


Lady Paphia's Lovers

by skypirateb



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Adultery, Arranged Marriage, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skypirateb/pseuds/skypirateb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Olympus, the marriage between Hephaestus and Aphrodite is a hilarious joke. To the people involved, much less so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This never would have gotten finished without endless feedback and encouragement from alpha reader chellerrific, so thanks to her for being super supportive and judiciously using the stick and carrot as appropriate.
> 
> Thank you also to daasvedanya, saturninepen, and eveninganna for beta reading and catching all the typos I missed.

**•I•**

  
Hephaestus loitered at the back, smirking through his wine haze at the tableau before him. The Queen—his mother, his ruthless, calculating mother—was flushed with embarrassment and fury. She was enthroned in a beautiful golden chair, decorated with elegant whorls and perfect, feminine curls, and she couldn’t move. It was as though her arms and backside had been soldered to the metal.

  
Athena circled the throne like a bird of prey hovering over a kill in her attempts to decipher the mechanics of the device. Hephaestus wasn’t worried. Athena was smart but she wasn’t crafty in quite the same way as he was. Besides, it was impossible for anyone else to drive it. Zeus, meanwhile, looked like he didn’t know whether to be furious or amused. He had settled on an expression between the two that resembled constipation.

  
Hera’s sisters were also present—Hestia wringing her hands in genuine concern, Demeter shaking with suppressed laughter. More of Zeus’ offspring: Artemis was wearing a scowl that would freeze fire, while Apollo and Hermes, preening like eromenoi, tried to catch Aphrodite’s eye. Never one to be outdone as the centre of attention, Aphrodite was basking in the general astonishment she had created when she had announced that she would marry whomever could free the queen. She tittered elegantly with a gaggle of nymphs, who were woefully in need of lessons in how to titter.

  
“You’re not actually gonna free her, are you?” Dionysus whined from where he was sprawled on the floor, propped up against a Doric column.

  
Hephaestus frowned. It made his burgeoning headache pulse. “Isn’t that why you came and dragged me back up here on your ass?”

  
“Only because Daddy made me.” Dionysus pouted and took a swig from his cup. “The old bitch can stay there for the rest of eternity, as far as I’m concerned.”

  
Hephaestus dragged his gaze back towards the assembly. The commotion was attracting more on-lookers by the moment. Word of Hera’s predicament spread fast, no doubt helped along by her unpopularity. But since Aphrodite’s announcement every minor god and their satyr wanted in on the action. A long line of men and some woman had formed behind the throne, each eager for their turn.

  
Athena spun on her heel with a huff. “The release is well-hidden,” she announced tightly. “Whomever has created this contraption has deliberately obscured any switch or button that might undo the mechanism so that we would be ineffectual in our multitudinous attempts to provide the victim with any assistance.”

  
“This is ridiculous!” Hera spat, her diadem slipping askew. “You are forever boasting of being ‘keen-eyed’ but the moment that would actually be useful—!”

  
Athena’s expression turned frosty. “Forgive me, my Queen,” she said. “Though clearly unappreciated and unwelcome, my aid was kindly intentioned.”

  
“Better luck next time, Athena darling,” Aphrodite teased. “I never knew you were so enchanted with me!”

  
“I was merely concerning myself with solving the riddle that had been presented for my attention,” Athena replied evenly, her gaze still fixed on the throne. Aphrodite giggled.

  
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.” She sighed. “After all, who _wouldn’t_ want to marry me?” Athena scoffed, but before she could retort, she was shoved aside by Ares barging through the crowd.

  
“Step-aside, bird brain,” he boomed. “Only a _real_ warrior can fix this!” He strode over to his mother, arms swinging like enormous twin hams. Aphrodite faux-swooned against Athena’s shoulder.

  
Hephaestus noted with sadistic glee that Ares still had smoldering gashes in the back of his chest plate from where Hephaestus had shot at him earlier that day.

  
Ares drew his sword. With a mighty battle cry, he brought the sword crashing down on the back of the chair. The sword glanced off harmlessly.

  
Ares stared at the throne, and then his sword, mouth agape. He tried again, with the same result. “Why - won’t - you - break - you - stupid - chair!” he bellowed, punctuating each word with another impotent strike. Hephaestus smirked to himself.

  
Almost everyone was laughing now. But Aphrodite’s giggling, Hephaestus noted, was forced through a cringe. Hera was even more furious than she had been at Athena.

  
“Ares, stop this at once!” she yelled over the noise. “Clearly this is not helping!” Ares sheathed his sword with a scowl.

  
“Time for Plan Beta.” He grabbed Hera’s hands, ignoring her protests, and pulled with all his might.

  
The audience fell to pieces. The entire throne room echoed with raucous laughter. Apollo and Hermes were laughing so hard they were hanging off one another to stay upright. Several nymphs had tears streaming down their faces. Dionysus nearly choked on his wine. An incredulous grin was slowly spreading over Zeus’ features.

  
“This isn’t working!” Hera shouted, her voice shrill.

  
Ares grunted. “Just… a little… more…”

  
Hephaestus looked at his mother. Her regal features were contorted with humiliation and pain. Locks of hair had jumped free from her tight chignon making her look bedraggled. The sound of mocking laughter was overwhelming.

  
Hephaestus’ insides twisted uncomfortably. One of his first big orders had been to build a chariot for Helios to drive across the sky every day. It was an important responsibility, but that just made it even more exciting. It would need to be light but sturdy, brilliant but practical, something that would last for generations.

  
Gold had been requested, but gold wasn’t a hardy metal, and this chariot would have to withstand heat hotter than a forge. The challenge of creating a piece so paradoxical quickly consumed his waking hours. Weeks and many failed prototypes later, he had come up with something he was proud of.

  
He had presented it to a full assembly. He spoke at length, brimming with excitement, about how he had overcome each of the individual challenges the project had presented and how he had turned its weaknesses into its strengths. When he finally finished the applause was lacklustre, but Helios made a big deal out of presenting him with payment.

  
Soon everyone was fawning over the chariot. For once Hephaestus had felt strong and proud to be the centre of attention, to have so many people admiring his work. He waited eagerly at the sidelines, payment heavy in hand, expecting people to flock to him with praise.

  
No-one approached him. They pushed past him to talk to Helios, to praise _him_ for the chariot, to beg rides and fancy demonstrations. Hephaestus’ shoulders dropped. His stomach twisted and sank. Before long Helios had lead the congregation out to the stables to show off his skills. Not a single person gave Hephaestus a backwards glance. By the time he was alone in the cavernous hall, with only his payment for company, he was forced to conclude that no-one wanted him around.

  
He hobbled back to his forge, joints aching with stiffness. Maybe next time would be different. Helios was a known cad, after all. It was probably just because he was so popular already.

  
Still, the chariot turned out to be excellent for business. His skills were suddenly in very high demand; the orders pouring in daily. Everyone wanted Hephaestus to forge them the finest weapons, create the speediest chariots, work the finest jewellery, build the grandest houses and temples. The results were the same every time: he was paid generously for his efforts, but people were more interested in his work than they were in him. And when he did surface from his forge to wander the halls of Olympus, people parted around him as if he was cursed. They glanced at him from the corner of their eyes to avoid his gaze. They whispered and giggled behind their hands at the gentle click _schhhh_ noise of his leg braces.

  
He got the message loud and clear. You are not welcome.

  
Hera had done nothing to help him. She hadn’t even acknowledged him as her son until he started showing what a wonderful smith he was. Even in private she talked to him in hushed tones, eyes darting around as if she were afraid someone would laugh at her for being caught speaking to the resident runt. Maybe now she would realise that being laughed at wouldn’t kill her.

  
Hephaestus was pulled back to the present as another wave of laughter crashed over the hall. Hera’s face was flushed with pain as Ares continued to heave on her arm sockets. Hephaestus sighed heavily.

  
“What’re you doing?” Dionysus said when Hephaestus got to his feet.

  
“Something,” Hephaestus grumbled.

  
“Aww, c’mooooon! Just leave her there!”

  
Hephaestus ignored the drunkard. His legs weren’t too bad today, but that might have been the numbing effect of a Dionysian vintage. In any case there was no need to hurry.

  
He pushed his way through the crowd. Distractedly, people parted before him, though Hephaestus caught a few of them visibly recoiling when they saw his face.

  
As he stepped towards Hera and Ares, he drew himself upright. “Cut that out, you half-baked brute,” he said. Ares stopped yanking on his mother’s arms and squared his shoulders. His barrel chest swelled to an enormous size.

  
“What did you call me?”

  
Hephaestus ignored him. He also ignored the way Hera was examining him sharply. He hobbled around to the back of the throne. At the top, he had etched a tiny capital ‘Η’. He traced his thumb carefully over the shallow grooves in the gold. As he did, the entire throne glowed softly and released the queen.

  
Hera backed away quickly. Everyone fell silent. Hephaestus stepped around the throne to face his mother. Eyes narrowed, she looked down her nose at him. Hephaestus raised an eyebrow at her. They stared each other down, tension drawing out like a bowstring.

  
Hera opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and then looked away.

  
Hephaestus’ eyes widened. He had won.

  
Typically, Zeus was the one to break the tension. “Well, now that that’s over,” he said, stepping forwards. “All there is to do now is settle the betrothal.” He smirked at a point over Hephaestus’ shoulder.

  
All eyes in the room swung around to Aphrodite. She had been rendered statuesque, her doe eyes wide with shock. The nymphs surrounding her were all gaping like landed fish.

  
 Hephaestus had to bite his lip to suppress a laugh.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aphrodite was feeling oddly pensive. She draped herself in a picturesque way along the wall of her balcony that overlooked the Mediterranean. It was a gorgeous day in Paphos—half a dozen streaks of white cloud scudded lazily across the sky over a sea that was bright cerulean. There was a light breeze, bringing with it the sound of waves bubbling against the rocky bay up over the forested hills towards her. She basked in the warmth of the late morning sun and the piquant smell of sea foam, but ultimately, none of the sensory indulgences were enough to lift the tumultuous clouds hanging over her.

  
Marriage. And not to her hunky, well-cut warrior boyfriend. To the weirdo who lived under the mountain and often smelled like body odour.

  
Honestly it was almost enough to make her wish that the rest of the island was embroiled in equally distressing weather. But not to go to the effort of causing the storm herself, of course.

  
She was stirred from her reflections by Hermes alighting on the balcony railing. “Good morning, O Golden One!” Aphrodite took a moment to make up her face with her most serene smile before turning to face him.

  
“How appropriate, silver-tongue,” she teased. “What fine words do you have for me this morning?”

  
Hermes tipped his cap. “Simply a social visit, before it becomes prohibited.” He smirked. Aphrodite laughed and tossed her hair.

  
“Oh Hermes, you know as well as I do that fidelity to our domains transcends any obligations we might have.”

  
“Well-spoken as ever, loveliest lady of Paphos,” Hermes replied. Aphrodite smiled to herself as she saw his gaze sliding over her diaphanous robe. She pushed her shoulders back. “Whatever would your husband say?”

  
“Future husband.” She tilted her head so that her wine-dark curls spilt over her shoulder and across her breast. “This wind is far too cool for my delicate skin. Why don’t I take you inside?”

  
Hermes bowed again. “Whatever the lady wishes.”

  
She took him straight to bed. Hermes had been one of her first Olympian lovers. His body was wiry and lithe, and his butt was so tight it fitted in her hands. And of course he was fun. He liked to make her laugh; he claimed that it improved his performance. She hoped that his witty comments alone would be enough to pull her out of her funk, but partway through she started to wonder if this would be the last time she would bed Hermes. The thought filled her with anguish like a wineskin. She dug her nails into her palms and tried to ignore it.

  
Hermes finished quickly, as always. Not that she ever minded. Hermes was a good time, not a long time. She examined the scalloped marks her nails had left on her skin as Hermes dressed himself. “Frankly I’m thunderstruck someone was able to trick you into a betrothal,” he said as he laced up his sandals. “I need to step up my game.”

  
Aphrodite giggled sweetly. “You say that as if you could ever stand to be tied down.” Hermes gave her a wicked grin.

  
“That makes two of us then.”

  
“Oh Hermes,” she laughed, “I have always paid particular attention to the affairs of marriage.”

  
“I could believe that you would pay attention to affairs.” Hermes tipped his cap onto his windswept curls. “I suppose you’ll be using all those honeyed words I gave you to slip out of all kinds of nooses?”

  
“Please, sweetie. I invented honeyed words before you were even stealing cattle.”

  
Hermes placed a hand over his heart. “She cuts deep!” He skipped up onto the sill of the open window. “Until we meet again, Kallipygos.” He disappeared in a shower of downy feathers.

  
Aphrodite stretched her arms to the ceiling and flopped back on her pillows. Hermes really was completely full of it. Still, she adored his quick banter and his wicked grin. Rotten luck for her that Hephaestus was famously taciturn. Rolling over, she pulled her blanket up over her head to burrow under the covers.

  
She supposed she could love him. She just didn’t want to give up everyone else for that.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“I still can’t believe you did that to Mama!” Hebe giggled. She jiggled her folded legs where she sat on Hephaestus’ workbench. “She was so mad. If it had been me I would have been grounded for like a century!”

  
Hebe seemed to have missed the memo that Hephaestus was the resident pariah. She was quite happy to trot around Olympus when his delivery times coincided with her work breaks, chatting ceaselessly despite Hephaestus’ replies being primarily monosyllabic. Whatever he did, he couldn’t seem to shake her. Even distracting her with miniature mechanical animals only worked for so long, no matter how shiny they were. And then she started invading his workspace! Eventually he realised that all he could do was resign himself to having a small, talkative shadow.

  
“I’m not afraid of her,” Hephaestus said simply.

  
Hebe sighed longingly. “I guess you’re way too old to be grounded now anyway. Oh also!” She jumped down from the bench, sending a pail of nails spilling over the floor. “Oopsie. Anyway!”

  
Hephaestus glanced down at the mess. “No,” he said before turning back to the sword he was whetting. “Clean those up first.”

  
“Aww, butts.” Hebe dropped into a crouch and began sweeping nails into her hands. “I wanted to ask you about Aphrodite! Because you’re getting married, aren’t you?”

  
“That’s what they say,” Hephaestus grumbled over the grinding over stone on metal.

  
“So does this mean like you’ve had a super secret crush on her this whole time? Have you been pining for her? Is that why you set this whole thing up, because you knew she would wanna try to bag Ares?”

  
“No.” He paused to examine the blade in the light. “I couldn’t plan that.”

  
“Or, oh! Have you two been having like a secret affair this whole time that no-one knows about? Is this your way of making it so the two of you will be together forever except everyone thinks it’s a joke?”

  
“What? No.” Hephaestus frowned. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

  
“Well I was talking to Pheme and—”

  
Hephaestus snorted. “You should know better than to listen to that nag.”

  
“But she knows everything about everyone!”

  
“Does she now.”

  
“Yuh-huh.” Hebe poured an armful of nails back into the bucket. “Besides, I can’t get any gossip from Lady Aph right now because she hasn’t had us go do anything with her like all week!” Hephaestus grunted. He had a fair idea of why Aphrodite was neglecting her handmaidens. “Have you even talked to her before?”

  
Hephaestus tried to shrug the question off. “Once or twice.”

  
Hebe propped one elbow on her knees and rested her chin on the heel of her palm. “Really? What do you think of her?”

  
“I can still see nails on the floor,” Hephaestus said without looking up.

  
Hebe sighed dramatically. “Why won’t you give me any gossip? She’s like the most beautiful goddess on Olympus! Everyone has an opinion about her!”

  
“I don’t.”

  
“Liar.” Hebe pouted. “Well you must have feelings about the wedding, right? Aren’t you excited?”

  
“Why would I be excited?”

  
“Well, if you didn’t want to get married, you would have called off the deal by now, right? And you didn’t have to free Mama, you could have left her in the chair and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.” Hephaestus shrugged uneasily. He didn’t mind lying about his feelings, but he didn’t like how close Hebe was skirting to the truth, either. “I bet you think she’s gorgeous, just like everyone else does.”

  
“Hebe,” he said warningly.

  
“And I mean, she’s really lovely too! She’s super kind and generous and helpful and fun! You would have to be totally heartless not to think she was great.”

  
Hephaestus started grinding his teeth. “Drop it, Hebe.”

  
“And anyway—”

  
“Here, did I show you this?” Hephaestus spun around on his seat and rummaged around one of his scraps boxes. He pulled out a handful of gears and some off-cut pieces of metal.

  
Hebe jumped to her feet, gossip and nails forgotten. “What what!” She watched entranced as right before her eyes Hephaestus transformed the scraps into a miniature lioness. When he was finished he breathed into its tiny mouth. It shivered to life, bronze coat gleaming, and jumped from his palm down onto the bench. “Oh look!” The lion gave a metallic mewl. Hebe ran a fingertip down its back and it swatted at her finger. Hebe laughed. “It’s so cute! Can I have it can I have it?” she begged, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  
“Yes once you clean up and go,” Hephaestus promised her.

  
“OKAY.”

  
Within minutes Hebe had refilled the pail with all the nails she had spilt, and even some she hadn’t. She had insisted on getting down on her stomach and sweeping under the benches with her tiny hands to catch every free nail. When she had finished, Hephaestus deposited the miniature automaton into her outstretched palms.

  
“I’m gonna go show Ares!” she announced. “I’m gonna make him so jealous!”

  
Hephaestus only relaxed when the forge door banged shut behind her. He didn’t want to think about the wedding. Every time he did he was filled with a sense of dread. What on earth had he been thinking? Yes, the thought of him marrying Aphrodite had been momentarily hilarious, but there was no way this could end well. She had never looked twice at him except to find something else to laugh about.

  
He needed more work. If he worked until he was exhausted then he could emerge from his forge in time for the wedding only to find it had all been a terrible dream sent to him by some malicious oneiros.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“I don’t understand.” Ares pressed his balled up fists against his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, then why are you doing this?”

  
Aphrodite rubbed his back. “Because I already said that I would, bubs.”

  
“Then why did you say that you would?” he asked.

  
“Because I thought you were a shoe-in. I figured it would be a simple show of your manly strength!” Aphrodite huffed. “I didn’t know that that blacksmith had rigged it.”

  
“He’s a cheater!” Ares said, voice rising with his temper. “If it was a fair contest I would have pasted him _and_ everyone else to the floor!”

  
“I know you would, you totally would.”

  
Ares jumped to his feet. “That’s what I should do, isn’t it? I should challenge him to a battle like a real god, without any of his stupid sneaky tricks!” He paced back and forth. “No weapons, either. We can fight pankration and then we’ll see who’s the manly one around here!”

  
Aphrodite grasped one of his hands in hers as he strode past her. “You’re not angry with me for this, are you?”

  
“No!” Ares rounded on her. “I’m angry because this is garbage! He’s a cheater and cheaters are liars and you deserve better than a sneaky rotten liar!”

  
Aphrodite squeezed his hand, her heart melting. “Oh, bubba come here.” She pulled him onto the bed and made him lie down with her. He fumed even as she stroked his hair.

  
“I don’t even know why you said you would get married in the first place,” he grumbled. “Married people are _mean_.”

  
Aphrodite pulled back a little to look at him. “Are they?”

  
“Yes,” he said decidedly. “And miserable. Mom and Dad are always yelling and complaining and being tricky and mean to each other and Dad keeps screwing around when she’s not looking and then she goes on murder sprees when he’s not looking and then we have those stupid indoor thunderstorms that make my head hurt.”

  
Aphrodite giggled. Despite the insider information she had on the resident power couple she had to admit it was an accurate sketch. “So you think I’ll start going on murder sprees behind everyone’s back if I get married?”

  
“Who knows,” he said darkly. “Marriage changes everyone.”

  
She nuzzled her nose against his. “I hope it doesn’t change me too much.”

  
Ares closed his eyes. “If that sneak turns you into someone that hates everything I’m gonna be really mad.”

  
“Oho, really mad?” Aphrodite teased. “Instead of just regular mad?”

  
“Yes.” Ares scowled at her. “So mad I’ll punch his face twenty three times.”

  
Aphrodite mock gasped. “ _Twenty-three_?”

  
“At least,” he said with a solemn nod. Aphrodite giggled and pressed her face into his neck.

  
“He could never do that,” she said. “No-one ever could. That would mean they would have to make me hate you, and that’s just not possible.”

  
Ares sighed. “Really really?”

  
“Really absolutely _truly_.” She smiled. “You’ll always be my bubba.”

  
“Even if you get married?”

  
Aphrodite clenched his hands in his hair. “I could never stop loving you. I love lots of people and that never took away from how much I love you.”

  
“Yeah.” Ares rolled over, pulling her on top of him. She gave a delighted laugh. “You know what?”

  
She grinned down at him. “What?”

  
“I love you so much that I wouldn’t marry you even if Mom tried to make me.”

  
Aphrodite giggled harder. “You wouldn’t?”

  
“Yeah. I’m not gonna be the one who makes you angry at everything.”

  
“That’s so sweet of you.” She kissed his chin delicately. Ares tipped his head forwards and kissed her on the mouth. For all his aggressive tendencies his kisses were always warm and genuine. It made her tingle pleasurably all the way down her back. She sighed when he broke the kiss.

  
“Just don’t tell anyone,” he muttered.

  
She gave him a sly smile. “Because of your reputation, right?”

  
“Yes. My Reputation.” He ran one hand into her hair and started trailing kisses down her neck.

  
“I love you,” she sighed, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  
But it didn’t matter how much she said it. On the morning of the wedding she still had to leave him. She woke up before he did in the pre-dawn light. The deep sound of his snoring and his warm presence next to her made her want to wrap her arms around him, tuck her knees behind his, and forget that any of this had ever happened.

  
Her heart ached as she slipped out from between the covers. It took all of her strength not to leap back into to bed with him. She lingered as she gathered up her things—small makeup boxes, barely worn robes, her favourite hand mirror—part of her hoping that he would wake up for his morning workout before she left. Then he could beg her to stay, to not do this, and they could barricade themselves in his rooms of the palace and lose days in furious lovemaking.

  
But he didn’t wake up; she had timed things too well. When she tiptoed from the room tears were pouring silently down her face. The sense of finality she had when she slid the latch on the door back into place made her shudder.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hephaestus had now been the centre of attention twice within the space of a single month, which was enough to last him for the rest of the year. He gritted his teeth and tried to block out the cacophony of colours and revelers around him.

  
“I hope you understand the true weight of this honour,” his mother had taken it upon herself to warn him before the banquet. “It is unusual for my husband to allow for such an elaborate gathering to be hosted in his own halls when it isn’t for his own direct benefit.”

  
It was true that the hall had been decorated beautifully. Arrangements of myrtle, apple blossom, and roses were spilt over every surface. Doves and sparrows flitted about in the eaves. The food had been prepared in Hestia’s kitchens, and was above and beyond even her high standards. Gold was the predominant theme. No doubt whatever minor deity had thought of it was currently congratulating themselves on being so witty. Hephaestus almost wanted to track them down so that he could tell them that if it was ever up to him, he liked to work in bronze much more. Gold was far too malleable and fickle for his real work.

  
Beside him, dazzling everyone who caught a glimpse of her, was Aphrodite. Her hair was the colour of rich honey today, piled on her head and studded with jewelled pins like a coronet. Her eyebrows had been shaped thick and dark, and she had painted her lips the pinkish-red of pomegranate skin. She flashed Hephaestus a small smile when she noticed he was looking at her. Her teeth were white as marble.

  
Hephaestus glanced away, staring hard at a bowl of figs on the table. _The true weight of this honour_. He would have been more honoured if they had let him stay at home in peace.

  
“Would you like to eat more?” Aphrodite said. It took several moments before Hephaestus realised that she was speaking to him, and that she probably expected some kind of response.

  
“No.” Even if he hadn’t already eaten his fill, anxiety was gnawing at his stomach.

  
Undeterred, Aphrodite tried again. “Perhaps some more wine, then?”

  
Hephaestus hesitated. “Alright.”

  
Aphrodite waved down Ganymede to serve them, knocking her cutlery to the floor in her enthusiasm. “Wine for my husband, please!” Hephaestus pretended not to notice the hitch in her voice before the word ‘husband’.

  
Ganymede bowed delicately. “Certainly, Lady Aphrodite.” He held his jug out over Hephaestus’ cup. He was stopped at the last moment when Hephaestus held up a hand.

  
“Is it neat?” he said. Ganymede, who had never heard the smith speak more than two words together, gaped. Hephaestus sighed. Hebe was talkative, but at least she was efficient. “The wine, boy. Is it neat?”

  
To his credit, Ganymede snapped back into professionalism. “No, sir. This has been mixed; prepared to the exact standards that our host Lord Zeus—”

  
“Bring neat wine,” Hephaestus said. “I will mix it myself.”

  
There was an awkward pause as Ganymede exchanged a glance with Aphrodite. After a moment Aphrodite, remembering her position, beamed at him. “You heard him. Please bring the neat wine.”

  
Ganymede disappeared in a huff but returned quickly, a new jug in his slender hands. He poured a generous helping of the plum coloured liquid into Hephaestus’ cup. Hephaestus added only a cursory amount of water before he took a deep sip. It warmed his insides, and he felt the tension in his stomach relax and settle. He ignored Ganymede’s scandalised look and the way that a blush was creeping over Aphrodite’s cheeks. Her smile was frozen on her face. She looked around quickly, trying to determine if Hephaestus’ actions had been noticed by any of the guests.

  
She gave a stilted laugh as he set his cup back down on the table. “My husband demonstrates his… masculinity with such a display!”

  
“That will be all,” Hephaestus grunted at Ganymede, whose departure couldn’t come quick enough for either of them. Hephaestus pressed a broken thumbnail against the dark paint on his cup. “I drink wine like this because I like it. I don’t have anything to prove.”

  
Aphrodite balled one hand into a tight fist. “You have to be _careful_ when you’re in a situation like this!” she hissed. “Anyone might have seen, and Ganymede is definitely the type to gossip about you being barbaric!”

  
“You mean people don’t already?” Hephaestus asked sarcastically. “I have no desire to impress anyone here.”

  
“It isn’t _about_ impressing anyone,” Aphrodite said patiently. “It’s about following customs, and being accepted.”

  
Hephaestus snorted. “Everyone here, including yourself, has made it clear many times over that I’m not acceptable.”

  
Aphrodite recoiled, her face flushing deeply. Hephaestus felt an immediate pang, even though he knew he was right. As Aphrodite floundered, he levered himself to his feet. “Well, maybe now you shouldn’t be included in that. If I offended you at all, then you have my apologies. Excuse me.”

  
Aphrodite recovered enough to speak before he was out of earshot. “Where are you going?”

  
Hephaestus merely shrugged.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After their dust up over wine drinking conventions, Aphrodite found it difficult to see the point in staying at the party. Hephaestus might as well have punched her in the gut. Surely his lashing out at her had been misguided. She couldn’t even remember seeing Hephaestus much around the palace, let alone enough to think he was barbaric.

  
Moping didn’t suit her. After another hour she brushed her robes off and said goodnight to the guests. She played it off as if she were an excited bride, and everyone graciously pretended that she was blushing and her husband was handsome.

  
She found Hephaestus in her room— _their_ room, rather: the new master bedroom of their new shared house. The lamps were out and Hephaestus was in bed. Aphrodite paused in the doorway. Was he asleep? All she could see was his broad back. He looked less like an Olympian god and more like a solid block of granite, haphazardly covered with a blanket. She tiptoed over for a closer look. His eyes were scrunched closed and his arms were folded across his chest. Who could sleep like that?

  
“Hephaestus?” she whispered. No response. Tentatively, she poked his shoulder. “Psssst, Hephaestus!” His eyes remained clamped shut. When she lit the lamp next to his bed, it cast haggard shadows over his features. She shivered but crouched down beside him. This was important, dammit.

  
“Are you awake?” she said slightly louder. “I… can’t actually tell if you’re asleep or just pretending, to punish me.” When this failed to elicit a response, she huffed loudly and rocked back on her heels. “I wanted you to be awake because I wanted to talk to you about earlier. I’m sorry I snapped at you, and I shouldn’t have called you a barbarian. I mean, you speak Greek, so….” She gave an uneasy laugh, but Hephaestus’ eyelids didn’t so much as flutter. Aphrodite chewed at her lip. “Anyway if you’re awake I just… thought we could talk.”

  
Her feet had started to go numb by the time she gave up. With a sigh she stood up carefully. If he didn’t want to talk to her there wasn’t much she could do about it. Before she blew out the lamp, she glanced down at the swathes of fabric she had wrapped herself in—voluminous and elegant, a stylistic rendition of sea foam. She fingered the delicate dove clasp on her _zonē_ , wondering fleetingly if he had noticed it at all. It was simple, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. She hadn’t thought she would need a statement piece to catch her husband’s eye.

  
She snuffed the lamp and undressed, leaving the robes in a puddle on the floor at the foot of the bed. Naked, she slipped under the covers next to Hephaestus. His back was like a wall in front of her. She reached out and laid her hand flat across it. His warm skin was covered with fine hair, and pockmarked with scars whose origins she wondered at. His muscles were thick and hard; in a way it was like Ares, but these weren’t the muscles of someone who consciously sculpted them. These muscles were a by-product of his work and his lifestyle. With a hot shiver, she imagined what it would be like to be wrapped in his arms held close against his chest, listening to the sound of his breath in his body and feeling him hard beneath her.

  
But that wouldn’t be happening tonight. She rolled over until her back was facing him, pulling the covers around her bare form.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hephaestus worked. The heat of the forge fire was blistering, sending rivulets of sweat down his face, gathering at the nape of his neck, and running down his back. He was constantly aware of a muted ache in the muscles of his shoulders and back. Soot settled on every exposed square of skin, pasted in place with sweat. But he liked his work: it gave him something to focus on, to disappear into when he didn’t want to spend time alone with his thoughts.

  
Except when Hebe dropped by, of course.

  
“Sooo how are things with Lady Aphrodite?” she said, pseudo-casual, polishing an automaton mouse he had given her some time ago.

  
Hephaestus shrugged. “Fine,” he lied.

  
It had been over a week now and he still didn’t know what to make of his new wife. She was beautiful, certainly, but that made him draw back from her. The anxious gnawing that had been present during the wedding had become as constant as his muscle fatigue. It wasn’t a rabbit hole he wanted to follow, but Hebe was tenacious.

  
“She looked sooo gorgeous at the wedding, I still can’t get over it,” she sighed. “And she’s always sooo generous and kind with all of us.”

  
“You’ve said.”

  
“Have you done much together?” she continued, inattentive to her brother’s tight tone. “I mean, you’ve been down here every time I’ve come to see you this week.”

  
Hephaestus stoked the fire before answering. “No. I’ve hardly seen her.”

  
“But she’s your wife! Hasn’t she tried to take you picnicking? She does that with us all the time!”

  
“I’m busy,” he said. “I have orders to get through.”

  
“Yeah, but people will understand if you take time with your wife! Especially when it’s Aphrodite.” Hebe bounced in her seat. “And if they didn’t, she could soften them up for you!”

  
“I’ve made commitments to get this work done.” He pushed another log onto the fire. “I don’t need her help.”

  
Hebe huffed. “Why are you being so difficult?”

  
“I’m not being difficult!”

  
“You are! I bet she’s sitting all alone up there crying her eyes out because you’re already neglecting her!”

  
Hephaestus snorted. “I doubt that. She hardly had two nice words for me before.”

  
“Yeah but it’s different now,” Hebe insisted.

  
“People aren’t automatons,” Hephaestus replied bitterly. “You don’t just flip a switch and change their behaviour.”

  
“Well how is she supposed to have nice words for you if you won’t spend any time with her?”

  
Someone coughed politely, interrupting their bickering. “Excuse me?”

  
They both jumped guiltily. Aphrodite was standing behind them. Hephaestus felt himself flush. “How long have you been there?”

  
“Oh, not long,” she answered nonchalantly. She looked at Hebe. “Sweetie, would you mind if I spoke with my husband in private?”

  
Hebe bounced to her feet. “Of course not, my lady!” She shot Hephaestus an undisguised glare. “We were just talking about you.”

  
“Quiet, Hebe,” Hephaestus snarled. She responding by sticking her tongue out at him.

  
“Can I take this polishing cloth?” she said. “I’m not done with Miss Whiskers and I wanna make all my other animals shiny again too.”

  
Hephaestus waved her away. “Fine, fine.”

  
Hebe cheerfully bid farewell, and disappeared in a golden light. When they were alone, Aphrodite smiled shyly at Hephaestus. He looked away.

  
“What are you doing here?”

  
“Looking for you.” He heard her step closer until her form was visible in the corner of his eye. She had wrapped herself up in some kind of shimmery fabric. The light played over it like the surface of water when she moved. It was highly distracting. “Only it’s been a week since we were married, and every night you’ve come to bed long after I’ve gone to sleep.”

  
Hephaestus clenched his jaw and turned his back to her, busying himself with the fire. There had been a reason for his absence, and whatever he told Hebe, it had nothing to do with work. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  
“You’re my husband now. It doesn’t matter if you disturb me.” She waited for a response, but none came. Hephaestus riffled aimlessly through a box of scrap metal to avoid her eye. “I realise you… struggle a little with people, but I really do want to try this,” she continued. “Being married, I mean.”

  
Hephaestus paused. Her words had a weight to them that suggested sincerity, but it could easily be the famous wiles she used to get all manner of beings into bed with her. Everyone knew the stories.

  
A very small part of him wanted her to be telling the truth.

  
Aphrodite sighed. “Anyway, I just thought I would come and let you know. I really will be waiting for you, if you want to try this too.” She left, the faint scene of rosewater lingering behind her.

  
Hephaestus stared at his distorted reflection that loomed in the box of scrap metals. What a joke it had been to everyone after the throne debacle. It had been harder and harder for him to see the funny side of things when people were laughing at him as much as they were her. A goddess of beauty betrothed to a lame smith with a face like a dropped pie. Hilarious. The comic sketches wrote themselves.

  
So why hadn’t he walked away?

  
He was scared about what that answer might be.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
For almost an hour, Aphrodite watched the small flame of her lamp flicker in the darkness of the room. The oil was getting low. When she closed her eyes she could see a warm halo of light dancing over her eyelids.

  
Would Hephaestus come? She hadn’t expected him immediately, but she couldn’t tell if she had gotten through to him, either. He’d forced her to stare at the back of his head while she talked to him, after all. And it was already so late. Her blinking was more and more languid each time she closed her eyes. She shifted to cup one of her breasts in intuitive self-comfort. Even if she fell asleep, it would be okay. Surely it would be okay.

  
At some point she drifted off, and was jolted awake when the bed creaked as Hephaestus eased himself onto his side. The lamp had burnt out. Aphrodite squeezed her eyes shut and opened them wide again, trying to shake sleep off her brow. His breathing was deep and heavy, like the quiet rumble of mountains.

  
She wanted to reach out to him, but as words rose up they caught in her throat. Why was talking to him so hard?

  
He moved and his hand rested tentatively on her shoulder. Instinctively she reached out to grasp his fingers before he could pull away. Her fingertips nestled against the length of his middle finger. He froze at her touch. Aphrodite rolled over carefully, taking his hand into both of hers. They had hardly touched before. The surface of his palms was hard, calloused by his work. Each raised pad was rough under her own petal-soft skin. She traced the lines, the shapes, the spaces between his fingers. She laced her own fingers with his, and slowly brought his hand to her lips. Tenderly, she kissed each knuckle of his fist. “Kiss me.”

  
Hephaestus hadn’t even flinched. His breathing had stilled. Slowly, in a way that made it seem painful, he leaned over and touched his lips to hers.

  
This close he smelled strongly of soot and sweat. The whiskers on his chin grazed against her lower lip. His nose bumped against hers with a jitter. Aphrodite pressed closer, hungry for the warmth of his skin and his breath. She wanted to feel the pounding of his heart, to press against his chest and his stomach and his thighs, and tangle her fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair.

  
There was a delicious tug in her gut. A shivery sigh escaped her lips, still pressed against his mouth, and Hephaestus gave a faint, guttural moan in return. But then he was pulling away from her, extricating his hand from hers, and turning his back on her. Aphrodite was left frozen in place.

  
When she came back to herself, her eyes were welling with tears. Frustration burned in her chest. Gritting her teeth, she turned away from him and jerked the covers up over her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**•II•**

  
Before her marriage she had been hopeful that things would work out. Now Aphrodite slumped into a melancholy rivalling Apollo’s depths in the wake of one of his own ill-fated affairs. Unlike Apollo’s token displays of stylised chagrin, however, this was something that ate away at her like moths at wool. Pampering bored her. Playing match-maker left her despondent. When she could no longer enjoy the regular picnic parties she held for her retinue she knew something was seriously wrong.

  
“You’re grieving all of the possible rendez-vous you might have had, had you stayed untethered,” Apollo diagnosed grandly. “Alas, would that we had had our own trysts, your symptoms would assuredly be less acute. As it is, you mourn the loss of a shining, golden tête-á-tête that would have developed from such a union.”

  
Aphrodite laughed, ruffled his hair, and ignored the implicit suggestion that sleeping with Doctor Apollo would cure all her woes. She had no doubt that a romantic tryst with someone would go a long way to mending things, but Apollo certainly wasn’t going to be that person.

  
It was Dionysus, of all people, who made the most promising suggestion. “I’ll throw a party,” he told her, “so we can all have a good piss up to mourn your marriage.”

  
Aphrodite glanced at him. “Don’t you mean celebrate?”

  
He shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your party.”

  
So she drew charcoal around her eyes and painted her lips bright coral and did her hair up in a fiery red for the occasion.

  
Dionysus had outdone himself. The party was held outside, under a lattice structure that was covered with ivy and grape vines. An enormous buffet ran along one side, creaking under the weight of the bounty. Globes of light waltzed through the air as intoxicated dancers whirled about. Both the Muses and Apollo’s Golden Charmers were performing for the evening. In the centre of it all was a towering fountain of marble dolphins mid-leap, pouring wine into the wide basin below. Aphrodite grabbed an empty cup from one of the trays that were floating among the guests and filled it from the fountain. It was good wine.

  
Laughter caught her ear. As she turned towards it, she caught sight of three nymphs who were looking her way and giggling behind their hands. Aphrodite put on her most charming smile and strode over to them. “What’s the joke, ladies?”

  
One of the nymphs blushed dark green and looked at her feet. The one standing on Aphrodite’s right, however, straightened her shoulders and smirked. “We were wondering if you were allowed to drink mixed wine.”

  
A murderous glint flashed in Aphrodite’s eyes before she forced a laugh. “Whatever could you mean? Surely you know my powers are at the centre of every civilised society.” She bared her teeth as she smiled.

  
The nymph’s two friends were trying to tug her away, but she was rooted to the ground. “I’m sure any kind of society would fail after only one generation without you, Lady Aphrodite.”

  
Aphrodite gave a laugh as sharp as a dagger. She leaned forwards and grasped the nymph’s chin tightly in her hand. “ _Never_ pay such disrespect to me or any of the immortal gods.” Her voice was sweet as honey. She ignored the nymph’s mewls as her nails bit into her skin. “You are nothing beneath our feet, child. Remember that you are lucky that I am so kind and love to laugh at jokes like yours. Others would not be so forgiving.” She pushed the girl away, making her stumble backwards into her friends. Aphrodite strutted off, muttering a curse under her breath. _Let’s see how popular they all are with repugnant body odour_.

  
Dionysus found her slamming back the wine in her cup as he swanned over. “Enjoying this little soiree?” he said, in a tone that made it sound like he couldn’t have possibly cared any less about her answer. 

  
“Wonderful, darling.” Aphrodite smiled brightly while slinking her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Come with me while I refill my cup, won’t you?”

  
Aphrodite was determined to hold court, just to stick it to the people who were gossipping about the scene Hephaestus had caused at the wedding and how their marriage was already on the rocks. Perhaps it was petty of her, but it was _her_ party. If she wanted to be the absolute centre of attention then no-one would dare stop her.

  
Unfortunately they walked right into Ares. Aphrodite flushed from the top of her forehead down to the centre between her legs.

  
“U-Uh…” Poor Ares, he had never been eloquent. Aphrodite squeezed Dionysus’ arm and smiled.

  
“Good evening, Ares!” she said in a spuriously cheerful voice. “Are you enjoying the party?” Silently, she begged him not to make any kind of scene. 

  
Ares frowned at her. “Yes.” 

  
“Don’t you think Dionysus has done a marvellous job?” she prompted.

  
Ares glanced at Dionysus, then looked back at Aphrodite. “Very good.” Then, belatedly, he turned back to Dionysus and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him nose first into the garden tiles. “Good job with the party.”

  
“You’re too kind,” Dionysus said through gritted teeth, readjusting the wreath that was perched on his head and looking like he was trying to decide which one of Ares’ limbs to rip off first.

  
“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” Ares said, ignoring Dionysus’ glowering. Aphrodite shrunk back.

  
“I-I… well, you know it was my wedding day, I had to take a lot of time to get ready, and—”

  
“I get up early too,” he said. “So I can do my morning workout. That would have still given you heaps of time.”

  
Aphrodite gulped. Ares’ face was crumpled in confusion and pain. This was why she had wanted to make a clean break. “I just thought it would be easier…”

  
“Why would that be easier?”

  
“Clean breaks always make things easier,” she said. “Especially when you need to forget about someone.”

  
Ares stepped back like she had slapped him. “You want to forget me?”

  
Aphrodite bit her lip. “No, I mean, I think it’s just… best if we forget about each other.”

  
“I don’t want to forget about you!” 

  
Dionysus coughed politely. Aphrodite glanced around. People were staring at them, their curiosity piqued by Ares’ raised voice. “Ares, please,” she said. “Not now.”

  
Ares made a noise of frustration. “When? You won’t talk to me!” 

  
“Oh, look,” Dionysus said apathetically, gazing vaguely over Ares’ shoulder, “is that an arm wrestling contest breaking out over the left over hog?”

  
“What?” Ares turned to look, but he couldn’t see anyone arm wrestling. When he turned back, Aphrodite and the wine man were gone. “Hey!”

  
Aphrodite and Dionysus had slipped away behind the bushes. “What in Tartarus was that about?” Dionysus hissed as he crawled after her on all fours. 

  
Aphrodite cringed. “Sorry, Dio. I haven’t spoken to him since the night before the wedding when I kinda had to… love him and leave him?”

  
“You booty called him to dump his ass?” 

  
Aphrodite groaned. “Why do things always sound so much worse when you say them?”

  
“I’m gifted.” He slumped onto his backside. “Hold up, Dia, I need to catch my breath.”

  
Aphrodite crouched next to him. “I didn’t _want_ to leave him!” she protested. “Everyone knows we’re basically perfect together. He’s the brawn to my beauty and brains!” She sighed. “Rhea above, maybe I should just go home to bed.”

  
“Oh my thyrsus,” Dionysus said. “This is worse than I thought.” He shifted to grab her squarely by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Dia. You need, nay, _deserve_ this.” His eyes were blazing. “So what if you’re married? That doesn’t mean you can’t have one last hurrah! Especially if that useless husband of yours is going to be the fun killer and chain you to a kitchen for the rest of eternity!”

  
“Oh gods.”

  
“Exactly! No-one wants that. So you’re gonna go out there and you’re gonna be the queen at court everyone knows you are!”

  
“Am I?”

  
Dionysus nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

  
Aphrodite took a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this. Oh, wait!” She peeked over the top of the bushes. “Has Ares gone yet?”

  
“Go!” Dionysus pushed her face first through the bushes and stumbling into the crowd of revelers.

  
She was more determined than ever to be the life and soul of the party. It was almost too easy. Usually she underplayed her charm and magnetism; it unnerved people when they realised the kind of havoc she could wreck on their psyche. Besides, Aphrodite was not malevolent. Mischievous, certainly, but she rarely took pleasure in hurting people. She had been dubbed laughter-loving for a reason, and it wasn’t just because it was a bawdy pun.

  
All evening, people swooned when she smiled, hung on every word she uttered, and were pulled into her orbit on the dance floor. 

  
And she drank. She drank enough that the party became a giddy blur of golden images that made her sides ache from laughter. Everyone was having such a good time! They were all dancing and laughing and singing. She got pulled around and around in circles by Thalia, and then Terpsichore, and then Hermes, and then several women she didn’t know who had red smeared around their mouths and leopard skins trailing from their necks like capes. They pounded the ground so hard Aphrodite thought the earth would crack open underneath them and that they would all go tumbling down. They sang until their voices were little more than incoherent screams echoing over Olympus to the stars above.

  
Inevitably, she found herself dancing face to face with Dionysus. She tugged at the wreath on his head with a giggle. “What’s this?”

  
“It’s my crown,” he said as nobly as he could while he was panting and cherry faced, “to show that I’m the King of the Party.”

  
“Isn’t that a woman’s chiton?”

  
“What’s your point?” He grabbed her hands and spun them around faster and faster.

  
Next she knew she was falling onto the grass beside Dionysus, still laughing. Away from the golden haze of the party, the night air was crisp; it filled her chest and cleared her head. 

  
“I don’t want to go home,” she said earnestly. “Can’t we just stop time?”

  
“That sounds like a lot of effort,” Dionysus replied, tilting his wreath down over his closed eyes.

  
“But I miss people,” Aphrodite whined. “Go on, Dio. Go ooooon.”

  
“Nah.” Dionysus yawned. “Ask Hermes. That guy’s always looking for work.”

  
Aphrodite propped herself up on her hands, gazing down the slope to where the party was winding down. “It’s like a bubble I wanna stay in,” she murmured.

  
“…What?”

  
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Trying to be poetic like Apollo, or something.”

  
“… _Why_?”

  
Aphrodite giggled. “Oh shush, you adore him.”

  
“Wash your mouth out.”

  
Aphrodite giggled again. Impulsively, she leaned over Dionysus and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. When she pulled away he opened his eyes slowly to give her an inquiring look. She flushed. “One last hurrah, or something,” she said quietly.

  
Dionysus looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged. Aphrodite kissed him again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It was almost dawn by the time Aphrodite made it back home. The courtyard was cold and still in the grey light. She quietly closed and bolted the heavy doors behind her before padding barefoot across the tiles.

  
“Good morning,” said a voice above her.

  
She nearly jumped out of her skin with an undignified squeal. Above her, at the top of the staircase, was Hephaestus. “G-Good morning!” she stammered cheerfully. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

  
“I have work to do.” He made his way down the stairs, one step at a time. Aphrodite tightened her grip on the stole around her shoulders. She knew she stank of wine, to say nothing of her smeared makeup or how her hair looked more like a bird’s nest.

  
“I—there was a party…” She smiled at him. “I’m in desperate need of my beauty sleep, you can see.”

  
Hephaestus grunted. “Do what you like.”

  
She was taken aback by his bluntness. “I’m only trying to be polite.”

  
“I don’t like small talk.”

  
Aphrodite pursed her lips. “Would you rather I ignore you?”

  
“Hmm.” Hephaestus reached the bottom of the stairs. “I can’t say I’d lose sleep over it.”

  
Something inside of her snapped. “What is your problem with me?” She balled her hands into fists. “You keep treating me with contempt but you’re the one who stepped forwards to marry me! Why would you do that if you don’t even like me?”

  
Hephaestus stared at her. His woolly eyebrows had raised a fraction at her outburst. She supposed this was his way of expressing surprise. After a pause, he said, “You were the one who offered to take someone’s hand in the first place.”

  
Aphrodite scoffed. “I didn’t think—”

  
“You didn’t think you would end up with the resident cripple?” His voice was calm, but she could sense the barely constrained rage simmering underneath it.

  
“No,” she spat back. “I didn’t think my partner would openly treat me with disgust.”

  
The tips of Hephaestus’ beard began to smolder gently. “I have done nothing of the sort.”

  
“You barely speak to me!” Aphrodite’s voice echoed around the courtyard. She no longer cared if she woke the neighbours. “You hardly look at me or acknowledge my presence! You refuse to be seen with me in public! You kiss me like I’m everything in the universe to you and then you ignore me for days!” Tears sprang up in her eyes. “How do you expect anyone to live like this?”

  
Hephaestus glowered. For a tense moment she thought he was going to smack her. But when he moved, it was to push past her towards the door. He didn’t look back as the door slammed shut behind him. Broken, exhausted, Aphrodite collapsed to her knees on the hard ground and cried.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hephaestus did not return to their shared house. Neither, for that matter, did Aphrodite, though he discovered this second-hand. Despite his wishes, his forge was not a fortress. As much as he hated listening to gossip, it was the number one pastime on Olympus, surpassing both chariot racing and raucous parties. His customers left him with no choice but to tolerate it.

  
“I saw something interesting today,” Helios said, casually fussing with his hair in the reflection of a shield. “Something I thought you would be quite interested to know.”

  
Hephaestus closed his eyes, counted to ten, and resumed panel beating the front of Helios’ chariot. 

  
“Don’t you want to hear it?” Helios said over the noise. “It’s highly relevant to your interests.”

  
Hephaestus stopped hammering just long enough to answer. “I’ll live.”

  
Helios screwed up his face and waited patiently for a pause in the work. “It’s about your wife, you know.” He wandered closer to where Hephaestus was working, testing the workbenches for dust with a swipe of his fingertip. “Though perhaps, judging from the state of things here, she’s not your wife anymore?”

  
Hephaestus put down the mallet he was using and stretched his shoulder. “I’m sure she’d let everyone know the happy news if that was the case.”

  
Helios smirked. “Well of course. Only, I saw her with Lord Ares just the other day, in a most scandalous state, right out in the open where anyone flying over could see…”

  
There was a roaring noise in Hephaestus’ ears. He hammered the chariot harder, blocking out Helios’ yammering. It wasn’t a surprise, really. He had a fair idea of what she’d been up to the moment he caught her stumbling in from the party at dawn. But Helios’ words were still like a knife in the gut. With a shiver, he remembered the single kiss they had shared in the dark of their bedroom, the touch of her skin soft against his hand, the heady scent of roses that followed her, and the ravaging internal fire that he had forced himself to douse. 

  
He clenched his fist around the grip of his mallet. “I don’t care what she does.”

  
Helios huffed. “Well I just thought—”

  
“Boy, if you want this fixed, you’ll shut your mouth.”

  
Helios was deeply offended, but as he had a race that afternoon with a lot of money riding on his own victory, he decided to do as he was told. 

  
When he was gone Hephaestus threw the mallet halfway across the workshop before collapsing into one of his bespoke chairs. He was such an idiot. It was never going to work out with Aphrodite, he had known that from the moment they were betrothed. He never should have gotten his hopes up. He never should have expected her to care about the seashell tiles in the bathroom or rosettes on the metal end caps of banisters, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself including these and dozens of small details like them in the house he had built. Even at the time he had known he couldn’t possibly compete with silver-tongued con artists or night-long revelries in her name, let alone fantastic feats of strength to win her honour. 

  
Several days later, he was disturbed again. He spent most of the day hammering out mangled sheets of bronze from scrapped projects into flat sheets again. 

  
“I hope that bronze did something to deserve such treatment,” said a voice behind him. When he turned to reprimand whoever had decided to invade his space, Hephaestus found his mother. He frowned.

  
“Hello,” he said. “Was there something wrong with the order?”

  
“Order?” Hera blinked. “Oh, the spears. No, they appeared to be to your usual standard. Not that I’m the one using them, of course, but the children have mentioned…”

  
“Right.” Hephaestus turned back to his anvil. “Well, just leave your order sheet on the table and I’ll get to it.”

  
“If I had an order to place I wouldn’t come down here myself to deliver it,” Hera said, offended. “Zeus knows we pay Hermes enough that I’m not about to start doing his work for him.” She sniffed. “I’m here on a personal matter.”

  
“Hmmm.” Hephaestus continued examining the metal in front of him. He really didn’t care what anyone had to say at the moment.

  
“You see,” Hera said, ignoring Hephaestus’ attempts to ignore her, “marriage is my domain, as you know, and I had heard you were having some difficulties in adapting yourself to your new situation.”

  
“Mmm.” Maybe he should be making another toy for Hebe’s menagerie. He hadn’t been able to make her a bird that would fly yet.

  
“Especially given the rather humiliating rumours that are now circulating.”

  
Hephaestus’ head snapped up. “What’s humiliating about them?”

  
Hera arched an eyebrow. “Surely you have heard about the… activities your wife has been engaging in while you have sequestered yourself down here.”

  
“Oh, that.” Hephaestus shook his head. “No more humiliating than being thrown off a mountain top.” Hera’s cheeks coloured delicately. Hephaestus mentally awarded himself a strike in his favour. “If you care because you feel humiliated, that’s your problem.”

  
Hera raised both her eyebrows. “It is my duty to advise couples in troubled marriages.” A pause. “Particularly when they concern my children.”

  
Hephaestus laughed bitterly. “So, now that you have a chance to meddle, you’re calling me son again?”

  
“No.” Hera made a noise of impatience. “I merely thought that this would provide an opportunity for me to offer my not inconsiderable aid in your dilemma.”

  
“And what dilemma is that, Mother?” Hephaestus asked dryly. 

  
“Your public humiliation at the hands of your wife.” Hephaestus gritted his teeth. Hera did not notice. “I don’t know what she means by doing this, of course, but then, I’ve never pretended to understand her behaviour at all,” she said. “And I certainly don’t know what you mean by barricading yourself in here and refusing to confront the problem. At this rate she will have run your reputation into the ground by the close of the month.”

  
Ah. His reputation. Perhaps that was what Hera actually cared about.

  
“And don’t try to tell me you don’t care about your reputation,” Hera continued, as if she had read his mind. “If you didn’t care you wouldn’t be so careful about maintaining one.”

  
“I don’t maintain a reputation,” Hephaestus said waspishly.

  
“Of course you do,” she pronounced. “At the very least, you maintain a good reputation for your work. And of course there was the performance with the throne and that carry on about the wine at your wedding. Such events make it quite clear that you want your personal reputation to be that of someone who is not to be trifled with.”

  
“That’s not true.”

  
“Oh, it is.” Hera shrugged. “It’s either that, or you wish to give the impression of not caring about your reputation, which is a reputation in itself.” He stared at her. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I am your only parent,” she said quietly. “I am quite confident in my ability to deduce the reasoning behind your actions.”

  
Hephaestus rolled his eyes. “You never bothered to learn anything about me.”

  
Hera frowned. “I’m trying now.”

  
“You’re just telling me how you think I feel.”

  
“If I’m wrong, then correct me,” she challenged.

  
Hephaestus rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Just go, Mother.”

  
“Fine.” Hera gathered her robes around her with great dignity. “But if I were in your position, I wouldn’t be hiding away at the bottom of a mountain. I would be designing a plan to restore my honour.”

  
She was gone before he had a chance to snap back at her. He glared at the spot where she had disappeared, his chest burning. Clearly his security needed upgrades.

  
But when he turned back to his work he realised he had lost interest in building an automaton for Hebe. All his thoughts were of Aphrodite—her laughing smile, her smirk, her ecstatic moans as she took lover after lover between her legs, laughing in his face the entire time, telling them all how he was an impotent husband. He gripped the edge of the bench. 

  
She was humiliating him.

  
He swept aside the bronze littering the bench and pulled out a chest containing almost a talent of gold.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aphrodite, meanwhile, was tucked under Ares’ armpit as he dozed. His post-coitus naps were as predictable to her as they were adorable. Wild boars stampeding over his chest wouldn’t have woken him, meaning Aphrodite was free to flick his nipple as much as she liked. She giggled into the meat of his shoulder when one of his hands came crashing down on his pectoral to brush away whatever had been tickling him.

  
In the back of her mind, a small part of her nagged that she should feel guilty for being snuggled up with her long-time lover when her husband was alone in his forge. Except, it had been Hephaestus’ choice to go to the forge and ignore her. How was she supposed to play nice with someone who refused to be in her company? He might enjoy isolation, but she certainly didn’t.

  
She started kissing Ares’ bicep before her thoughts could get too thorny. It didn’t matter that Hephaestus refused to meet her eye or face her in bed or kiss her again. What mattered now was that she was back in the arms of someone who adored her.

  
When Ares woke, she was carefully examining the arch of his eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he mumbled.

  
Aphrodite smiled. “Just looking.”

  
“At what?” He frowned. “Do I have something on my face?” She giggled when he started rubbing his eye.

  
“No, I really was just looking!”

  
“But what were you—”

  
“Shh, it doesn’t matter.” Aphrodite touched her fingertip against his lips. He kissed it automatically. “Did you sleep well?”

  
“Yes.” He stretched his arms out wide and wrapped her up tight. She gave a delighted laugh when he heaved her on top on him. “Mmm, you smell good,” he said, pressing his face into her chest. 

  
“You always say that.” She smiled and nuzzled her forehead against his. 

  
“Because it’s always true.” He kissed over her breasts, his bristly chin rubbing her skin. Aphrodite sighed and closed her eyes. “Don’t leave again.” 

  
Aphrodite scratched the back of his head. “I don’t want to,” she said softly. “I never wanted to.”

  
“Well, why did you then?” Ares huffed. “I told you marriage makes everything crummy.”

  
Aphrodite gave a small chuff of laughter. “You did, didn’t you?”

  
“Yes I did.” Ares smirked. “This is why people should listen to me and not that stupid bird brain.”

  
Aphrodite agreed, but at the same time her heart sank. “This wouldn’t be happening if he would be open with me.”

  
Ares scowled. “I can punch him open if you want. I can take him, easy.”

  
“Mmm, you totally could.” Aphrodite scratched his head again. “I don’t think that’ll help, though.”

  
He scoffed. “Yes it would.”

  
Aphrodite tucked her chin against his chest. “People are saying it’s my fault, y’know.”

  
“What?!” Ares tried to sit up. “Who is saying that? How could it be _your_ fault! That guy’s the one being a jerk! Don’t they know anything about this? People are so stupid!”

  
“Honey, honey, it’s okay.” Aphrodite pressed him back against the pillows. “It’s only gossip. I can handle it.”

  
“You shouldn’t have to!” 

  
“Oh, Ares,” Aphrodite sighed, her heart welling in her chest. “You’re so good to me.” She hugged him tightly. Her arms barely met around his chest.

  
“I’ll be your champion,” he said, patting her hair, “And that means I’ll punch the lights outta anyone who even looks at you funny.”

  
Aphrodite giggled. “My champion, huh?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Flex your muscles for me, champion,” she teased. Ares cocked an eyebrow before flexing his arms and chest generously. Aphrodite laughed. She pushed herself up with her hands and planted a deep kiss on his lips. His arms relaxed, draping over her back at the peak of her hips.

  
Even after so long her stomach still fluttered whenever his lips met hers. Skin contact between them was enough to make a delicious, passionate heat burn in the pit of her abdomen. When his arms were around her, so solid and strong, everything else faded to the background. 

  
Ares grunted as she shifted her hips. “Sore.”

  
“Then we should move,” she murmured coyly, sighing hot against his lips.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hephaestus surveyed his work. The bench glittered in the red light of the forge. He ran his hands over the soft metal links, each a delicate circle. It would take him hours to assemble the final piece, but at least it wouldn’t be the days it had take him to make the parts. He was on the homestretch.

  
But first, his stomach was growling and his throat was dry. It had been some time since he had eaten, though he wasn’t able to follow the hours down here. He stood and stretched, his arms and back creaking painfully. He rubbed a tight knot in his triceps as he hobbled out of the forge. 

  
Outside was bright and warm; it always was on Olympus. Hephaestus squinted in the sunlight. As fresh air filled his body he hacked up a phlegmy ball of soot and smoke.   
  
He meandered down to the agora, waving gnats out of his face. Without a hat, the sun grew hot on his dark curls. By the time he reached the cool shade of the stoa that ran around the agora, sweat was running down his back and neck.

  
Ignoring the usual pointing and whispering that rippled over people whenever he passed by, he found a clean-ish looking souvlaki stand without much of a queue. He took his place behind a group of three minor godlings whom he didn’t recognise. There was a pause in their conversation when they noticed him, followed by furious whispering. Hephaestus gritted his teeth. The sidelong glances and giggling were harder to ignore when they were right in his face.

  
“If any of you have something to say to me,” he said loudly, “you can tell me now. I’m right here.”

  
One of the youths, a stupid looking slip of a boy with ruddy hair, sneered at Hephaestus. “We were merely speculating, Lord Hephaestus, about why you aren’t ever seen about with your wife. She’s been so popular with everyone else lately, especially Lord Ares.”

  
The two dark-haired nymphs on either side of the boy stared at him with lamp-like eyes. Hephaestus clenched his fists so hard his hands started to cramp. “Our lives are none of your business,” he snarled.

  
The boy turned back to the two nymphs. “I told you,” he said in a stage whisper.

  
He was two seconds away from sending all three of them through the souvlaki stand when something collared him from behind. “Ack!”

  
“Hephy!” Hebe squealed in his ear. 

  
“Get down, Hebe,” he coughed. 

  
“Oh, boo you too.” Hebe slid onto her feet. Next moment she was standing between Hephaestus and the three people in front of him. “Is there something wrong here?” she asked cheerfully.

  
The boy hesitated. On the one hand, he was twice Hebe’s size, and it would be an excellent chance to show off in front of the nymphs. On the other hand, it was well known that Hebe was unabashedly adored by her parents, Zeus and Hera, not to mention almost all of her siblings. Anyone who made her cry was likely to be rewarded with swift and dramatic revenge. 

  
He was saved from this decision when the vendor called their order up. Hebe continued to shoot them the stink eye as they retreated. “Meanies,” she muttered. She spun around to face Hephaestus. “Where have you _been_!”

  
“Where do you think?” Hephaestus said. He stepped up to place his order. Hebe hovered by his elbow.

  
“Okay I know where you’ve been. But you haven’t even come to sneak food from the kitchens!”

  
Hephaestus shrugged. “I’m getting food now.”

  
Hebe huffed. “Tell me.” She punctuated her command by poking his shoulder.

  
“Nah,” he said, hiding a half-smile.

  
“Yes!” Hebe stamped her foot. “You’re so rude, being all grumpy with me after I saved your butt from those buttheads.”

  
He patted the top of her head absent-mindedly. “Sure you did.”

  
“I totally did!”

  
They argued like this for some time. Eventually they were interrupted by Hephaestus’ order being called. Hebe waited patiently while he paid. “Can I try some?”

  
“You should have got your own,” he said, taking a large bite from the meat. 

  
“Nah, I already ate anyway.” Hebe followed him as he started walking, kicking stones out in front of them. “You okay, Hephy?”

  
“Peachy,” he said flatly.

  
Hebe bit her lip. “Only, I heard some things…”

  
Hephaestus sighed in annoyance. “You’re not listening to idiots like those three, are you?” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the trio of dunces sitting in the sun. 

  
“No…” Hebe skipped on every other step. “It was something Ares said.”

  
The end of Hephaestus’ skewer cracked in his hand. “I see,” he grumbled.

  
“You know I think he’s a smelly gross jerk just like you do!” Hebe chirped. “But he came over to me at breakfast this morning and was being really mean about you to my face.”

  
Hephaestus scowled. “Why are you telling me this?” 

  
“Because he told me that he wanted me to tell you something.”

  
“If he wants to tell me something he can do it himself like an adult, instead of using you as a messenger.”

  
“But listen!” Hebe bounced anxiously. “He said he’s gonna come beat you to pulp if you keep being rude to Lady Aphrodite!”

  
Hephaestus gave a bark of hollow laughter. “Oh _I’m_ the rude one, am I? You’re right, Hebe. He does have rocks for brains.”

  
“I wanted to give you a head start, okay,” Hebe said with a pout. “If you don’t want me to help—”

  
“I don’t want you listening to his drivel.” Hephaestus finished his food and tossed the wooden skewer into the grass that ran alongside the path. “I’m more than capable of handling whatever he decides to throw at me.”

  
“Punches probably,” Hebe said knowingly. “But if you get under his guard and go to bite the skin on his arms…”

  
“Not necessary,” Hephaestus said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “If everything goes according to my plan, he won’t even be able to move.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aphrodite was about to begin anointing herself for the day when there was a knock at the door. She nodded to one of her attendants. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw who it was.

  
“Hephaestus.” She twisted her hands in the towel on her lap. “Good morning.”

  
“Hello.” He paused, shifting on his feet. “I came to let you know I’m going to Lemnos.” Another pause. “I may be some time.” His words were stilted, dropping out like stones into a pond.

  
“Oh.” Aphrodite’s cheeks warmed under his gaze. “Thank… you? For letting me know, I mean.” Her cheeks burned harder and her stomach worked into knots. They had hardly seen each other in weeks. Was this going to be the beginning of the end?

  
Hephaestus nodded. “I’ll be leaving now.”

  
“Okay.” They stared at each other awkwardly. Hephaestus cleared his throat and closed the door. Aphrodite’s heart quivered as she heard him slowly walk away.

  
She turned to her attendants. “Get the myrrh oil,” she said, “and have a messenger sent to Lord Ares.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aphrodite paced in the courtyard. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. Translucent robes fluttered around her form as she moved. How long could it possibly take to arrive from the main palace? Ares wasn’t exactly unfit. 

  
There was a knock at the door. She raced to pull it open. Ares was on the other side, his hand still raised in mid-air. She grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him into a fierce kiss. He snaked his arms tight around her waist, lifting her off her feet.

  
When they broke apart, Ares sighed. “You smell good.”

  
Aphrodite smiled. “You smell sweaty.”

  
“I was training to be your champion,” he said, setting her back down on her feet. “You needed me, babe?”

  
Aphrodite grabbed his hand. “Come with me.” She pulled him inside, the door banging shut behind them. Despite Ares’ bulk, Aphrodite pulled him easily across the courtyard and up the stairs. “My husband has gone,” she explained over her shoulder, “so we can spend some time together.”

  
Ares grinned when she opened the door of her bedroom with a flourish. “How long will he be gone?”

  
“I don’t know,” Aphrodite said breathlessly. “A day, a week, a month. Maybe even forever if we’re lucky.” Shivers slid over her skin as she ran her palms up his arms and pressed her lips against his. His tongue teased her against her lower lip and her nose pressed hard against his cheek until she had to break away with a gasp. He pulled frantically at her robes, trying to find skin under the folds of silk. Aphrodite arched her stomach against his when he squeezes the flesh of her thighs.

  
“I love you,” she muttered, fisting a hand tight in the back of his hair. “I love you.”

  
Moaning, he shoved her back onto the bed. Aphrodite laughed as she fell, kicking her legs free from her robes. Her girdle unbuckled and her robes unwrapped; she relished in the feeling of his body heat over her stomach and breasts as he leaned over to kiss her neck. She closed her eyes and let her body arch and shrink in time with his, moving with each shiver and touch. Ares burned like she did, hard and fierce; when they came together Aphrodite would lose herself in the fire that ravaged them both.

  
“Come here,” she panted, guiding him between her thighs. He gave a moan, uncharacteristically weak, when she tightened her legs against his hips and stroked him lightly. She bit her lip as she teased them both, delighting in the thrill of anticipation that rushed through her. And then she guided him up inside her; they both paused, their lips brushing together, panting in the same rhythm.

  
Suddenly, there was a metallic clatter. Aphrodite twisted to look around the room. As soon as she moved, a searing pain shot over her skin. Judging by the contortions of Ares’ expression, he felt it too.

  
“What—No!” Aphrodite squealed. “I can’t move!”

  
Ares grunted like a snared boar. “I can’t move!”

  
“That’s what I said!” As Aphrodite struggled her skin hissed with each movement. “What is this?”

  
“My back is on fire!” Ares bellowed. 

  
Over his shoulder, Aphrodite saw something glitter in the light. She squinted. It was difficult, but once she caught that first glimmer, she could see it spreading out over and over, stretched over them, forged in gold. “Is that…” She gasped. “It’s a net!”

  
“What?! Where?!” Ares tried to thrash, but all he did was burn himself more. “Ow!”

  
“Shh!” Aphrodite hissed. Uneven, clicking footsteps had caught her ear. “Oh no, no, _no_.”

  
“What now?”

  
“That’s Hephaestus!”

  
“ _What_?”

  
“Coming up the stairs,” she moaned. A golden net that burned like fire. Of course.

  
They froze as the door swung open. Hephaestus lumbered into view. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly. “Looks like the net works.”

  
Aphrodite was about to spit out some very un-lady-like curses when Hephaestus turned back to the door. “You can come in.” At his invitation, Zeus, Poseidon, Hermes, Apollo, and several other gods filed into the room. Grins spread across their faces. _Dammit!_ Forced to think fast, Aphrodite arranged her features into a flirtatious smile. 

  
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said cheerfully. “Come to enjoy the show? Oh, but I’m afraid there won’t be much of that,” she pouted, shoving out her ample bottom lip until it curled down to touch her chin, “because my heartless husband here has made it impossible for me to move!” And she could also feel Ares rapidly losing confidence between her legs, but she wasn’t going to mention that to them.

  
“You really are shameless,” Hephaestus sighed. “You’re as bad as any slattern.”

  
Aphrodite gasped. “So cruel!” she said. “You know full well, husband, that _all_ slatterns are under my protection.” She winked at Apollo, who nearly swooned. 

  
Hephaestus shook his head. “Utterly shameless.”

  
“Here I was, all ready to be mad at you for skipping our date,” Hermes said to Aphrodite, shaking his head. “But maybe it’s just as well you did if someone like Hephaestus can defeat Ares in your house.” The assembled gods laughed at this, and Aphrodite giggled. Hephaestus scowled. 

  
“If this was a fair fight,” Ares shouted over the laughter, “I would paste that punk to the walls and all of you know it! He’s a dirty cheater!”

  
“That’s the best kind, let’s be honest here,” Hermes smirked. “Besides, it’s not like you and your girlfriend wouldn’t be included on that list.”

  
Ares looked furious. “Listen here, you little shit—”

  
“Oh, Ares, you really are my champion!” Aphrodite said loudly. “Always so ready to defend my honour!”

  
Momentarily distracted, Ares looked down at her and smiled. “Of course, babe.” He tried to nuzzle her, but the net blazed across his neck when he tried to dip his head. He swore violently.

  
There was renewed laughter. After he was finished wiping tears from his eyes, Poseidon clapped a hand on Hephaestus’ shoulder. “Alright, let them go.”

  
Momentarily unsteadied by Poseidon’s massive grip, Hephaestus grabbed the edge of the bed to stay upright. “Excuse me?” He scowled. “No. She swore to be faithful when we entered the marriage contract, which they have now broken.” 

  
Aphrodite bit back an acerbic retort. _He_ was the one who had broken the marriage contract first by not being a good husband!

  
“I mean, technically, Ares didn’t make any promise to you,” Hermes pointed out.

  
Hephaestus glared at him. “You know Zeus’ law.”

  
Zeus rubbed his neck. “Mmm, well.” He shrugged. “The only other thing Ares can do is pay a fine. He’s already been publicly exposed. Which, by the way,” he turned to Hephaestus, “was definitely not something I ever wanted to see, but now I have the image of Ares’ ass burned on my brain. So thanks for that one.”

  
Hephaestus rolled his eyes. “You came here of your own will.”

  
Zeus held up his hands. “I’m not saying Aphrodite’s tits don’t make up for it.”

  
“It’s true, my breasts _are_ fabulous,” Aphrodite jumped in, seeing her chance. “But hubby here wouldn’t have known that, since he’s one of the only two people in this room who haven’t seen them.”

  
Hermes grinned wickedly. “Is the other one Apollo?”

  
Aphrodite winked. “Not any more.”

  
“Hey!” Apollo said, insulted by Hermes’ raucous cackling. “It’s not my fault I already have nine beautiful ladies eager for me to make love to them!”

  
“Sure, kid.” Zeus waved his hand. “Aphrodite, are you saying Hephaestus never got one over you? Not even once?”

  
“Not _ever_ ,” Aphrodite sighed dramatically. “So, you see, what is a poor, amorous love goddess to do? I can’t just ignore my domain!” She sniffed. “And after all of you have helped out so much during our rendez-vous.”

  
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Zeus exclaimed, rounding on Hephaestus. “You’ve been sharing a bed with the hottest goddess on this whole damn mountain for months and you mean to tell us you really were just sharing a bed?”

  
“That’s beside the point!” Hephaestus growled. “They owe me!”

  
“Okay, but you still have to let them go to do that,” Poseidon said. “It’s not like there aren’t half a dozen of us that could easily take this shrimp if he doesn’t pay up.”

  
“Except Apollo,” Hermes said.

  
“Hey!”

  
Hephaestus made a grumbling noise that sounded like a volcano on the brink of eruption. “Fine.” He ambled towards the bed and, with a flick of his wrist, the net slid off the lovers like water. Ares crashed off the bed and stumbled to his feet. He grabbed up his robes in a ball and rounded on Hephaestus.

  
“This means war,” he snarled, and ran from the room before anyone could catch him. Everyone else laughed. Aphrodite sighed and rolled over, propping her head up on her hand like she was modelling for a statue.

  
“Looks like the show’s over, boys.” She tossed her hair. “I can only apologise for it being so woefully short and unsatisfying for all of us.” She waved prettily and blew them kisses as Hephaestus herded them from the room. They seemed reluctant to leave. Finally he slammed the door on their retreating backs.

  
Aphrodite sat up slowly. “So I take it you’re not visiting Lemnos after all.”

  
After several tense moments Hephaestus took a deep breath. “You can’t be trusted at all.”

  
“Um, excuse me?” Aphrodite raised her eyebrows. “You’re the one who lied to me and said you were going to Lemnos just this morning.”

  
“You think that really measures up to you going behind my back and sleeping with half of Olympus?” Hephaestus shook his head. “Bold as brass you are, making such a claim.”

  
“Yeah, well what’s all this about me breaking the marriage vows?” Aphrodite said. Righteous fury was rising in her chest. How dare he try to drag her through the mud like he was some kind of infallible husband? “You’re the one who started that by neglecting me! You took those vows too, you haven’t done you’re duty to me as a husband at all!” Hephaestus scoffed in reply, which just made her angrier. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean!” She balled her fists in the sheets she was sitting on. “You’ve been awful to me ever since the wedding. All you do is turn your back to me and hide away in your ridiculous workshop ignoring me.” She blinked furiously as tears welled in her eyes. She would _not_ cry in front of him. “You’ve had weeks and weeks to try and act like you want me to be here, but you won’t even look at me! And don’t tell me you don’t want to,” she said as Hephaestus opened his mouth, “you kissed me with real feeling once, and then you went right back to hiding from me.”

  
Hephaestus closed his mouth. He glared at her for a moment. Then, through clenched teeth, he said, “Don’t act like you’d ever love me.” His voice was low and bitter. “I’m not an idiot. I know what people like you say about me.”

  
Aphrodite couldn’t keep back her tears any longer. “You stupid, self-pitying, arrogant man.” Her voice trembled with suppressed rage. Hephaestus merely stared at her. “Of all people, you thought that I would be incapable of learning to love someone?” She snatched her robes off the bed as she pushed herself to her feet. She stood naked before him. “You made yourself the victim here because of your idiotic need for self-pity. If you had just accepted me none of this would have happened.”

  
Hephaestus had no response to this. He hunched over before her, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. Aphrodite flicked tears off her face with one hand before storming out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**•III•**

  
No matter what Hephaestus did, Aphrodite’s words rung in his ears. Arrogant? How could he possibly be arrogant when everyone was quick to remind him that he was at the bottom of the heap? He had never heard a more inaccurate judgment of his character, which just showed that she didn’t have any idea what she was talking about.

  
And anyway, he thought, as he cut the end of a taper and the nail clattered to the floor, he wasn’t being self-pitying, he was being pragmatic. It would have been much harder to get over her if his hopes had been high in the first place.

  
But why was it that when he crawled into the bunk he kept for himself in the forge their argument replayed over and over and over in his mind? He couldn’t stop it no matter what he did, the only thing that helped was working. Why were her words stinging like an open wound if they weren’t true? 

  
He scowled at the wall in the glow of the dying fire, remembering how she had been so defiant, even proud of being caught in bed with her lover. And then she had the gall to flirt with her audience rather than hide from them! How could she call him arrogant when she was so convinced that everyone should love her? That was far less realistic than his view that she wouldn’t love him; at least his conclusion was based on experience. 

  
Around and around it went in his head like an obsessive, repetitive droning that only stopped for sleep. But even in his dreams he was haunted by the smell of her and his memory of their single kiss, and he hallucinated that she was still beside him in bed, warm and soft and agonisingly close. More often than not he woke disorientated and doused in sweat.

  
It didn’t take long before he ran out of things to do with his waking hours. Every order was filled and delivered, every personal project was polished, and he had more nails than he would ever need. In his desperation to fill his time with some kind of activity, he cleaned out his fire pit twice. Whenever he tried to start something, all he did was stare blankly at the metal, or the fire, or the fresh page as the argument with Aphrodite played over in his mind again. 

  
Apathetically, he picked over the scraps that had been swept off the benches and unceremoniously dumped into large crates out of the way. At the bottom of one, he found a scuffed disk of bronze. He paused. Stubby fingernails scraping the splintery wood, he prised the bronze up from the bottom of a crate. It was cut to the shape of a hand mirror; one of Aphrodite’s symbols. At first he had wanted to make her a mirror as a betrothal gift, and then he had discarded that idea for earrings, and then he had discarded the idea of making any gift, because he decided he didn’t want to get attached. 

  
The bronze was dull from spending months buried under a pile of scraps, but that would polish out. He spun it in his hands: it still had a nice balance and shape. 

  
It wasn’t as if he liked being alone, he thought, staring at the indistinct reflection on the surface of the metal. And he was fond of Hebe. So then why did he shut everyone else out? Had he ever really tried letting them in?

  
Quite suddenly, he felt stifled in the forge. The air was hot and stale. The cavernous walls seemed to be moving, shrinking towards him in a nauseating motion. He pushed himself onto his feet and tossed the bronze disk onto a bench. How long had he been down here, exactly?

  
Legs creaking in protest, he stepped out into the fresh air. It was another warm day, but there was a mercifully cool breeze rustling through the trees, and clouds were regularly running in front of the sun. He made his way slowly up the gentle sloped path towards the extensive palace gardens.

  
The gardens covered several acres, and while Hephaestus had been asked to construct some fountains in the newer areas, he didn’t have much to do with them at all. They were outside of his domain, and wandering around aimlessly looking at a bunch of plants never really appealed to him.

  
As he rounded a corner that lead to the rose garden he heard the high-pitched squealing and laughter of girls. He turned to leave before the saw him; he would find somewhere else to sit and think. Then he heard something that made him stop in his tracks.

  
“Alright, everyone come here! Let’s start a new game!”

  
It was Aphrodite’s voice, clear as a bell. 

  
His first instinct was to bolt back to his bunker, but he was rooted to the spot. Curiosity was welling up within him. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he edged around the corner until he could see the gathering of girls.

  
They were standing in the middle of the garden with their backs to him, flocking around Aphrodite in their centre. She seemed the same as ever, tall and poised, with luxurious curls (dark red today) tumbling down her back. She was speaking, but all Hephaestus could hear was a ringing in his ears. How could she have the gall to show her face after their argument? He thought he might have made some impression on her, given all the crying, but here she was in broad daylight holding court as if nothing had happened. 

  
He stepped closer, tightening a veil of Mist around him.

  
“On my count, girls!” Aphrodite was saying. “One… Two…” She paused, giggling as several of the girls nearly tripped over on false starts. Then, just before they could start protesting, “THREE!”

  
Off they ran, tearing down the gentle slope of grass to the enormous rose bushes. They scrabbled for flowers as they reached the bushes, squealing and laughing as they elbowed one another and scratched themselves on the thorns. Then it was back up the slope towards their patron, hair streaming behind them and flowers held aloft like trophies. Aphrodite was clapping and laughing and cheering them all towards her. As the first runners reached her, Aphrodite bent to receive their roses, smiling gracefully and kissing them on the cheek or lips.

  
Hephaestus rolled his eyes.

  
A cry of pain cut through the happy chatter. Aphrodite snapped upright. “Aglaia!”

  
One of the girls had fallen. Gathering her robes, Aphrodite quickly strode over to the girl, others trailing in her wake. “Where does it hurt, darling?” She helped the girl to her feet, and caught her when she stumbled. Hephaestus couldn’t hear her reply, but he could see that her expression, half-hidden by dark brown hair, was contorted in pain.

  
Aphrodite lowered her onto a marble bench. She turned to one of the other girls. “Fetch Apollo, and tell him to bring his medic kit.” Then she sat down next to the girl. “Can you put your leg upon my lap, Aglaia?”

  
Carefully, Aglaia lifted her injured leg onto Aphrodite’s thighs. “I-I’m sorry, my Lady, for—”

  
“Shh, you have nothing to apologise for, sweetie, it wasn’t your fault. Your ankle and your knee, right?”

  
“Yes, my Lady.” Aglaia hissed in pain as Aphrodite touched the ankle that was already swelling.

  
“That must have been a nasty fall, to hurt you knee as well!” Her tone was soothing. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, though, which is good, isn’t it?” Aglaia nodded shyly. Aphrodite leaned towards her and whispered something conspiratorially that made the girl smile and nod. Major crisis averted, the rest of Aphrodite’s handmaidens dropped onto the grass in groups of twos and threes, giggling and making daisy chains.

  
Within a few minutes Aphrodite had the girl laughing, and they started playing clapping games while they waited for Apollo. 

  
Hephaestus didn’t know what to think. Surely she was only doing all of this because she was surrounded by handmaidens, but why? They already liked her. Was it to set a good example? The idea of Aphrodite’s behaviour being exemplary in any way was laughable. 

  
Did any of it matter if the girl, Aglaia, was happy?

  
His stomach twisted into thorny knots. Brooding even more than before, he turned away from the pastoral scene and walked deeper into the gardens.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aphrodite spent an entire week in self-exile at her palace in Paphos. She would have stayed longer, except her loneliness overtook her self-righteous anger quicker than anticipated. 

  
Her return was tentative. She showed up at dinner one evening, and everything seemed to go smoothly enough. Hera was frostier than ever and Ares was nowhere in sight, but she had long learnt to live with the former and had expected the latter. It was still better than sitting alone in bed with only nectar for company.

  
The upside was that her handmaidens were beside themselves with excitement. They piled gifts and offerings onto her lap until her arms were overflowing with flowers and clothing and food. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes, and she laughed through them.

  
“I’m so blessed!” she said as they clung to her affectionately. “If only my husband would give me such a welcome.”

  
The moments she was alone, she loitered outside the door to Hephaestus’ forge. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t enter—though she really didn’t like the look of the gleaming bronze statues that flanked the door—but she had no idea what she could possibly say to him. Was she supposed to apologise for following her heart? That would be disingenuous; his cynicism would see through it in about two second. She didn’t exactly want him to divorce her, but she didn’t want him to keep treating her like she was invisible, either. 

  
“I’ll get a letter to him if you like,” Hermes said, balancing on thin air next to her. “Or I could break you in.”

  
“I don’t know what to say, dear,” she sighed.

  
Hermes gasped. “And here I thought you invented honeyed words!”

  
Aphrodite shoved him playfully. He pretended to wobble in the air, his sandals fluttering strenuously. “Honeyed words don’t work on him,” she said, “otherwise we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

  
But at least Hermes offered to do something. Both Dionysus and Apollo’s suggestions were as unhelpful as they were predictable. She very patiently and charmingly explained to them that she was trying to fix the problem, not drink it away, and that sleeping with someone else was, in fact, the root cause of the problem.

  
In the end, real help came from the most unexpected place.

  
Aphrodite had not seen Hebe since her return to Olympus. She assumed that Hebe had been avoiding her out of loyalty to her brother. It was a genuine surprise when Hebe not only attended a picnic that Aphrodite hosted in Paphos for her handmaidens, but flopped down on the grass next to her. 

  
“What a wonderful day!” she said, sprawling her limbs out. “You always pick the best days for picnics!”

  
Aphrodite smiled politely. This was her chance to pump Hebe for information about Hephaestus, but she had to do it without being too obvious. Unfortunately, Hephaestus was something she was having real trouble keeping cool about. “How have you been, Hebe?” she said. “Keeping busy?”

  
“Absolutely!” Hebe ran her hands over the cool grass. “It’s sooooo nice to be out here having fun with everyone. I’ve been spending so much time cooped up lately, it’s such a bummer.”

  
“Oh?” Aphrodite peeked out from under the wide brim of her straw hat. “That’s not like you, sweetie.”

  
“I know, right?” Hebe sighed heavily. “But Momma’s been keeping my nose to the grindstone trying to prove that I’m still way better than Gany and that Daddy should just fire him already. I don’t even know why! Gany and I get along so great. He has a really good sense of fashion and he can do some really fancy things with the drinks, like make them with rainbow layers!”

  
“Amazing,” Aphrodite said, chewing the edge of her thumbnail.

  
Hebe rolled over onto her stomach. “And I’ve been trying to get through to Hephy lately.”

  
Aphrodite’s heart leapt. Hebe was looking at her slyly, trying to catch her reaction. After taking a deep breath, she assumed as neutral an expression as she could. “How is he?” she asked stiltedly. 

  
Hebe sat up and bum shuffled closer to Aphrodite. “I think you’re the only person he wants to see, but he’s too butt-headed to say it,” she said. “He’s afraid of being hurt and rejected, so he shuts people out when he likes them.”

  
Aphrodite gave Hebe a startled look. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she objected. “Why would you push someone out if you liked them? How would that person even know you liked them?”

  
“I’m always telling him it’s silly too!” Hebe said. “But he’s just a big ol’ scaredy-cat. Or scaredy-hedgehog.”

  
Aphrodite had the sudden mental image of Hephaestus curling his enormous bulk up into a prickly ball and crawling under his workbench. She covered her face with her hands to muffle her giggling. “That’s so cute…” she murmured.

  
“What’d you say?” Hebe said.

  
“Nothing.” Aphrodite lifted her face from her hands and looked towards the ocean. The rest of the girls were playing ball games, chasing each other back and forth across the grass, and braiding one another’s hair. Beyond them she could see the gold of the sand against the blue of the sea, and the cliffs that curved around the bay like a crab claw. How could Hephaestus prefer self-imposed exile in his forge to this?

  
But then, what memories did she have of Hephaestus prior to their marriage? She had always thought of him as a strange little man with a limp and a face that looked as though it had been picked at by vultures and healed over. Of course, he made excellent weapons, but she didn’t care about that. And he always smelled terrible from all those hours spent in the forge sweating buckets in the heat, surrounded by smoke and ores. With a guilty stab, she realised that he had been the subject of jokes she had whispered to her companions behind their hands as he passed, the odd contraptions on his legs clicking loudly as he slumped over the marble floors. 

  
Shame burned through every inch of her. Everyone knew how he had literally been thrown off Olympus; everyone whispered that he was so decrepit that even his own mother hated him. He was a joke. And she was in on the joke, added to it even; she was confident in her own social standing, and never considered how it would affect Hephaestus. 

  
Of course he hated leaving his forge. Of course he treated everyone with suspicion. People on Olympus hardly had anything polite to say to him, and Aphrodite had been a frequent offender. She knew she was someone who led the pack: she was wildly popular and people hung on her every word. With a cold shudder, she realised that all these girls, these handmaidens of hers, had probably picked up on her flippant cruelty. Hephaestus wasn’t the arrogant one here.

  
He owed her nothing.

  
“I need to talk to him, Hebe,” she said softly. “I need to apologise.”

  
Hebe smiled. “I can take you to see him when we get back to the palace, if you want?”

  
Aphrodite’s hands began to tremble. “Do you really think he wants to see me?” she said. “Do you think he’ll let me talk to him?”

  
“Well, you have to try!” Hebe said cheerfully. “But for now, you should have fun!”

  
But it was hard to have fun now that she had been shaken. She kept remembering all the things she had said or thought about Hephaestus. Each one was like a sharp needle in her skin. If they had never gotten married, would she ever have tried to get to know him? A sinking feeling in her stomach told her the answer. No wonder Hephaestus thought she was full of shit. 

  
What had he said? Don’t act like you’d ever love me. He had seen right through her and realised that she was trying to get to know him because she thought she should, at least at first. He hadn’t reached out to her, but her attempts to understand him had been pretty pathetic. It had been easier to write him off as quirky and unfathomable.

  
Had they shared anything real? Yes, once: when she had taken his rough, strong hands in hers and he had kissed her with a tenderness that had surprised her. The memory still made her want to melt into his arms. It made her hungry for him; not just to sleep with him, but to learn about him and his life and his loves, and to be a part of it too. Maybe, if they could strip away all of their baggage, they could find that place again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hephaestus’ elbow was aching in protest, but the bronze surface he was working gleamed in the warm light. It was finally reflecting the surroundings; his scowl loomed on the metal as he polished.

  
“Yoohoo! Hephy!”

  
Hephaestus sighed. Every time Hebe called him that a part of him shrivelled up and died of embarrassment. At least no-one else had to hear it, though.

  
Hebe emerged from the maze-like clutter that had been building for decades. “I brought someone with me!”

  
Hephaestus’ scowl deepened. “I’ve already told you, you’re not allowed…” He faltered when she saw who it was she had in tow.

  
Aphrodite. Hephaestus flushed. She was definitely trying to avoid catching his eye.

  
Hebe released Aphrodite’s hand and pranced over to her brother. “She was telling me herself how much she missed you but she said she was having trouble making herself come in, so I thought I’d bring her to you!” She vaulted herself up onto his workbench. 

  
Hephaestus’ gaze bored into Aphrodite. She was playing with the bangle on her wrist, spinning it around and around. “Well, now she’s seen me,” he said gruffly. “So you can both leave.”

  
Aphrodite winced, but Hebe laughed in his face. “Don’t be silly, we only just got here!”

  
Hephaestus turned to his sister. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  
Hebe snapped her fingers. “Oh shoot! Is it nearly dinner time already?” She alighted to the floor and started skipping backwards. “I better go!” She pushed Aphrodite gently. “She can stay here though! She doesn’t have anything to do at all! Toodles!” She disappeared in a golden light, leaving Hephaestus spluttering behind her.

  
Aphrodite met his gaze for the first time and offered a tentative half smile. Hephaestus stared back at her blankly. What in Tartarus was she doing here? Hebe must be lying; Aphrodite had made it crystal clear that she never wanted to see him again. His hands balled into fists.

  
Before he could speak, Aphrodite drew herself up and shot him a real smile. “Do you mind if I sit down?” Hephaestus felt like his tongue had swollen to fill his whole mouth. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead he nodded tightly. “Thanks.” Aphrodite walked calmly around to the other side of his workbench as if she did this every day and perched on the stool directly across from him. She spent several excruciating moments fussing with her hair and arranging the way her robes sat over her lap. Hephaestus still couldn’t speak; he was numb all over. It was like something in his brain had ground to a halt. “Um, what are you making?” she said finally. 

  
He stared at her. Did she mean that? He could fill up hours talking about everything in his workshop. On the other hand, if she regretted the question that was really her own problem. “A mirror,” he grunted. “Here.” He pushed the bronze disk towards her. Predictably, her eyes lit up.

  
“It’s so pretty!” she gasped, holding it up to see herself in the surface. Hephaestus snorted. He couldn’t help himself. “Wh-What?” 

  
He shook his head. “Typical that you would like something you can see yourself in.” 

  
Aphrodite blushed. “I don’t mean it’s pretty because I can see myself in it.”

  
“Uh-huh.”

  
“I don’t! I mean, look at the handles on the sides and the back, it’s so pretty, all these rose vines and flowers and buds all over it and—” She frowned at him. She must have caught the twitch that was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you… teasing me?”

  
Hephaestus raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing. Aphrodite set the mirror back down gingerly. “A-Anyway…” She tucked her hair back behind her ear self-consciously. “Um, well…”

  
“Here, it isn’t finished yet.” Hephaestus picked the mirror up and turned it on its side. “These are too small to be handles.” He picked up a bronze rod already cut to purpose. “I’m using the same principle as when I was designing my braces and applying it on a smaller scale.” The rod had been bent into a square shape, except the top of the square was only two small hooks. He lined one of the hooks up with a hole on the side of the mirror. “Move back,” he warned, picking up his hammer.

  
Aphrodite leaned back in her seat, watching him cautiously. He aimed with the hammer head, then struck hard. The hook clunked into place. He repeated the procedure with the other side, and tried the joints carefully. “Now the mirror should stand on its own.” He demonstrated, setting the mirror down on the bench facing towards Aphrodite.

  
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said softly. “Does it have to say like this?”

  
“It’s adjustable.” He put his hammer back in his toolbox. “Now you can preen with both hands.”

  
She looked back up at him. “Is this for me?”

  
The way she was looking at him make his throat clench up. “Er, well.” He coughed. “I meant… A general you…”

  
“Oh.” She looked away from him. They sat in a long, awkward silence. Hephaestus realised he still didn’t know what she was doing there. Somehow he doubted it was to croon over his latest project. But he refused to break the silence.

  
“I… I wanted to talk to you, actually,” she said quietly. “If you want me to leave afterwards, then that’s fine, I just… I have some things I need to say.” Hephaestus looked at her. Aphrodite took the hint to keep going. “I know we had a pretty bad fight,” she continued. “And I’ve been doing some thinking about… about us, and what I said, and what you said, and I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  
“What?” Hephaestus said stupidly. He had not been expecting that.

  
“I’m sorry,” she said, colour rising to her cheeks. “It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to accept me immediately. Because… well, I haven’t exactly been very nice to you in the past at all, so why would you want to accept me?” She was speaking so quickly Hephaestus wasn’t sure he was hearing her correctly. “So it really wasn’t fair of me to call you arrogant when I just kinda assumed you would fall at my feet after I had treated you like dirt.” Her expression was half cringe, half smile. “I just needed to say it, is all. I think I’m starting to understand now why you’re such a hermit.”

  
Hephaestus frowned. “I don’t understand,” he growled. “Why are you bothering to say this?”

  
Aphrodite blinked. “What do you mean?” She mirrored his frown back at him. “I couldn’t just leave things so bad between us.”

  
Hephaestus clenched his jaw. A conclusion had been building slowly in his mind, ever since he saw her attending to her injured handmaiden. And here was more evidence, being laid out before him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  
“I want to,” Aphrodite said uneasily. “Should I not have come?”

  
He shook his head slowly. “I may have misjudged you.” His voice came out husky. 

  
She leaned closer. “Pardon?”

  
Typical. He cleared his throat. “I… I think I misjudged you.”

  
Aphrodite stared at him, eyes wide. “Did you?” she whispered.

  
Hephaestus nodded. “I thought…” He gestured vaguely towards her. “This… it was all for show.”

  
“Oh.” Aphrodite flushed. “I-I mean, it was, a little, at first. Before you…”

  
“Before?”

  
She fidgeted at first, playing with her bangle again. Then, without speaking, she slowly reached out and took his hand.

  
It was like a lightning bolt had shot up his arm. She turned his hand over in hers, like she had done that one night in the dark, and carefully, almost tantalisingly, brushed her fingertips over his palm. A full-bodied shiver raced over Hephaestus; it nearly jerked his hand away from her. Instead he closed his eyes, breathing through his painstaking counting to ten. 

  
It was no good. Her touch was like molten gold; it got into his veins and burned through to his core. The ache was painful and delicious at once. He opened his eyes.

  
“Oh,” he whimpered. He swallowed hard. “I see.”

  
All this time he had been thinking that kiss, as dizzying as it was, had been a mistake. Even letting her in for that brief moment had nearly torn down all of his regular defences. He hadn’t wanted that. But now…

  
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Cautiously he turned his hand over to grasp hers. She drew in an audible breath. With movements as stilted and mechanical as one of his prototype automatons, he drew their hand across to his side of the workbench, closer to his heart. Without looking at her, he bent over her hand and placed a tiny kiss on the middle knuckle of her hand.

  
When he looked up at her she was smiling. It was a warm, radiant smile. He nudged the mirror towards her with his free hand. “Take it.”

  
“Oh!” She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  
The way she was looking at him made his heart beat double time. He nodded, avoiding her eye. “If you want it.”

  
She beamed. “Yes!”

  
He shrugged. “Then take it. I’m not going to use it.”

  
“Are you sure?” Aphrodite pressed. “What if you need to trim your beard?”

  
“Well usually I just burn it down with cinders from the forge,” he said. She stared at him, eyes wide. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That was a joke.”

  
Aphrodite grinned slyly. “And here I was thinking you didn’t make jokes.”

  
He shrugged. “Only once a century. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  
She giggled. A hot shiver ran down his neck at the sound. “Thank you,” she said, picking it up. “I think it’s wonderful.”

  
He nodded. But something was still bothering him. “About… The trysts…”

  
Aphrodite squeezed his hand, frowning slightly. “Yes. That was wrong of me,” she said quickly, “I shouldn’t have been messing around behind your back, or using my domain as justification for it.”

  
“Mmm.” As much as he’d been trying to ignore it, it had stung to hear she had passed him over so quickly.

  
“Can… Can I tell you something though?” she asked. Hephaestus looked up with some trepidation. “I don’t… It’s not usual for me to only love one person at once.” Her voice was quiet, as if this was something she had never had to put into words. “To me, love isn’t… well, it isn’t zero sum. Loving one person takes nothing away from someone you’re already in love with, y’know?”

  
“Right,” Hephaestus said slowly. What was she getting at here?

  
“So… I want to learn to love you, I really do.” She flushed. “But that won’t make me fall out of love with A—with other people.”

  
“I see.” He could feel hard anger growing in him. “So, you’re always going to be going behind my back?”

  
“No, absolutely not,” she said vehemently. “I won’t ever do that again. I just… I want you to understand that to me, love is about giving. But you don’t lose anything when you give it. All that happens is that it gets easier and easier to give it to more people.” She bit her lip. “Is that… okay?”

  
Hephaestus sighed. The anger in him died as quickly as it had begun. “I’m new at this,” he grumbled.

  
“That’s okay, it’s totally fine,” she said soothingly. “We can learn together.”

  
Hephaestus snorted. “I’m sure there’s nothing left for _you_ to learn.”

  
“There’s always new things to learn in a new relationship,” she told him. “About each other and how to work together and how to build something together.”

  
Hephaestus stared at their hands. “Well… I like building.”

  
She giggled softly. “Good. Cause I want us to try building something that lasts.”

  
Their hands were intertwined. His fingers looked so dirty and stubby under her slender, rounded fingertips. “We’re a bad match, you know,” he grunted.

  
Aphrodite leaned right across the workbench; he could feel her breath on his cheek when she spoke. “I always think the best matches are the odd ones.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It was unlike any other love affair Aphrodite had been through. Hephaestus had fire in him, but he was refusing to let it loose. Then again, his unhurried approach allowed time for her to appreciate the little things. 

  
For instance, his hair wasn’t totally black: it was a dark brown, and there were flecks of grey through the curls. 

  
“Lie your head in my lap,” she told him one day when he came in from the forge looking weary. 

  
“Oh?” He wiped his face with his hand leaving flesh-coloured streaks in his sooty mask. “I’m not clean.”

  
“It doesn’t matter!” 

  
So he had, and she told him to close his eyes. She stroked his hair gently and rubbed his neck and shoulders. The rise and fall of his chest slowed and relaxed. She traced her fingers over his collarbone and tickled the chest hair that poked from the top of his chiton. That had grey running through it as well. Flushing with mischief, she wondered if that was consistent with the rest of his body hair. She hadn’t had a chance to find out, yet.

  
Another day she managed to convince him to come to the beach at Paphos with her. He had lumbered across the sand carefully, muttering about the possible effects stray grains of sand would have on his leg braces. But he held onto her arm when he slipped on the soft ground, and Aphrodite took it as a mark of trust that he would do this with her. 

  
That was also the day she had first told him that she thought he was handsome. Hephaestus scoffed in her face, which was as close as he ever got to laughter.

  
“You need your eyes checked.”

  
Aphrodite screwed up her nose. “No I don’t,” she said. “You have a great face. It’s rugged and interesting!”

  
He snorted. “‘Interesting’? That’s a new one. People usually just say ugly.”

  
“You’re _not_ ugly,” she insisted. “People don’t call those cliffs ugly, do they?” She gestured to the crab claw cliffs.

  
“That’s different.”

  
“No it’s not.” She shuffled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “You have the most interesting handsome nose I’ve ever seen. And you have wild eyebrows. And beautiful eyes.” He snorted. “Stop laughing at me!”

  
“You’re absurd,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll tell anyone anything.”

  
She pushed him gently. “Or I think beauty isn’t limited to perfectly symmetrical features.”

  
“Hmmm.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m going with my theory.”

  
“Oh, shush.”

  
One morning, while she was still getting her hair ready for the day, he came over to her before he left for the forge. She huffed at her reflection in her mirror. “What colour do you think I should pick today?” she asked. “I’m feeling sooo uninspired.”

  
“Uh…” He scratched his neck. “That one that’s like honey?”

  
“Honey?” She turned, frowning slightly. “What kind of honey?”

  
“I don’t know.” He looked away, embarrassed. “Like you had at the wedding.”

  
“Oh!” Aphrodite grinned and ran her hand through her hair. It changed from a dark brown to a rich honey colour. “I never knew you were so sentimental,” she teased.

  
“Just don’t tell people.” He hesitated, then he stepped over to her. One hand rested on her shoulder as he kissed her carefully on the temple. Aphrodite fluttered her eyes closed.

  
“I love you,” she murmured. 

  
“Mmm.” Hephaestus squeezed her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but she felt by now she knew what he meant.

  
Then, one evening, when they had blown the lamps out and lain down to sleep, he kissed the bare skin of her shoulder.

  
Her breath caught in her throat. After a pause she rolled over to face him. Carefully, she kissed his neck just below his ear. He shivered beneath her and grasped her arm. 

  
“I…” The bristles around his chin tickled against her ear. “I love…”

  
Aphrodite could feel her heart swelling with happiness. “I know, darling,” she smiled. She shifted to run her fingers through his hair. The tension ran out of him at her touch. “Are you happy with me?”

  
He nodded slowly. He moved his head down and began to kiss her collarbone. A full-body shiver ran over her. “O-Oh,” she sighed, and pressed his head against her breast. 

  
Everything began to unfurl, like a rose opening in the sun. Hephaestus’ kisses were fumbled and tender, and his calloused palms running over her skin made her arch in pleasure. He didn’t resist when she pressed him onto his back, nor when she sat astride his hips. They held each other close and tight, Aphrodite’s hair spilling around them in a curtain, secluding them in their own tiny world. 

  
“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. He buried his face in her hair.

  
She had been right about how warm it felt to be wrapped in his arms. It was awkward, lying face to face in bed, but she wasn’t going to let something like uncomfortable limb placement get in the way of cuddles.

  
“My husband,” she murmured into the hairs sprinkled over his chest. The little kisses she pecked over his skin sent shivers skipping over his body.

  
He sighed. “My wife,” he answered huskily.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Gods liked having an excuse to throw a party. Normally this caused Hephaestus to be even more intensely irritable than he typically was, but tonight he was almost calm. Though Aphrodite liked to be the centre of any gathering, tonight she was playing wallflower with him, her arm linked faithfully though his, smooth talking anyone who struck up a conversation with them. It left Hephaestus free to relax, releasing the tightness in his chest that always seemed to clamp down whenever he thought of the words ‘small talk’.

  
Aphrodite touched his shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  
“Fine,” he said. “Surprisingly.”

  
She giggled. It was the sound of new coins jingling in someone’s hand. “I told you it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought.”

  
Hephaestus grunted. “I was speaking from experience.”

  
“I’m sure you were, but if—” She tensed, her nails biting into his skin. He followed her frozen stare and caught sight of Ares approaching them rapidly.

  
“I’ll go.”

  
“No!” Aphrodite grasped his arm tighter. “I-I can handle this, I just have to—Good evening, Ares!” In the blink of an eye her expression went from petrified to radiant. It was a startling effect.

  
“Hey.” At least Ares seemed as disarmed as Hephaestus felt. He glanced from Aphrodite to Hephaestus and then quickly back to Aphrodite. “We should dance. Just the two of us.”

  
Aphrodite laughed again. Hephaestus knew immediately that it was one of her fake laughs. It wasn’t warm enough to be real. “Oh, you must be joking! You know I’m married now. We can’t go gallivanting about like we used to!”

  
Ares scowled. “You told me—”

  
“Why don’t you go and ask, ah… Artemis?”

  
“You know why. She’ll knife me in the gut.”

  
Aphrodite sighed. “Oh, is she still carrying on like that?” The three of them turned to look at Artemis, who was ignoring her brother’s attempts to drag her into the party and shooting death glares towards anyone who approached her. Aphrodite cringed. “If I could just get my claws into her…”

  
“Whatever. Are you going to dance or not?” Ares asked. Aphrodite wilted. 

  
“Ah, not tonight, dear.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Maybe some other time?”

  
Ares glanced at Hephaestus long enough for them to exchange dirty scowls, and moved on without comment. “Sorry about that,” Aphrodite said quietly.

  
Hephaestus shook his head. “You’re still in love with him.”

  
Aphrodite forced peals of fake laughter. “Oh, darling, even if I was—”

  
“Stop.” Hephaestus looked at her. “I understand now.”

  
“What… do you understand?”

  
“You love me, don’t you?”

  
Aphrodite’s expression melted. “Yes,” she said softly. “You know I do.”

  
He nodded. The gears in his brain were clicking rapidly. “You said yourself that you love more than one person at once.”

  
“Yes,” she said, as quiet as a breath. “And it’s still true.”

  
Hephaestus looked at her. Her eyebrows, perfectly plucked of course, were knitted together above her nose, and her eyes glittered with determination. But he could still see the way the chain of her necklace trembled against the pulse in her neck. He shook his head, mind made up. “You have accepted all of my oddities. I should accept yours as well.”

  
Her grip on his arm tightened again. “What are you saying?”

  
“Go and dance with him,” he said, nodding towards Ares, who was sauntering around in a misguided attempt to impress some maenads. 

  
“O-Oh… No, no, I couldn’t—”

  
“Why not?” Hephaestus gently extricated his arm from her grip. “You want to. He wants to. I don’t want to. It’s a good solution.”

  
Aphrodite stared at him. “You really mean it,” she said, eyes wide. “You’re not saying this to be pitying or passive-aggressive or anything.” Hephaestus nodded. Aphrodite glanced around. “Aren’t you worried about what other people will say?”

  
He raised an eyebrow. “I care about you being happy. That’s all.”

  
She hesitated for another fraction of a second. Then she grasped his face in her hands, kissed him soundly, and skipped off to save Ares from the maenads.

  
Hephaestus walked slowly around the edges of the garden, his eyes on Aphrodite and Ares as she dragged him around in time to the music. He couldn’t hear them, but her face was lit up with laughter. Hephaestus had expected to feel a jealous stabbing in his gut when he saw them together, in each other’s arms, almost as close as they had been when he had caught them in his net. Instead he was relieved. He knew that he loved her dearly, but he also liked his own space. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to keep her tethered closely. He liked being the centre of her world when she was with him, but being the centre of someone’s world full-time was exhausting. 

  
By the time the song was over, Aphrodite was glowing with a soft golden light. Hephaestus smiled to himself. He knew what he had to do.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Wake up.”

  
Someone was shaking Aphrodite’s shoulder. She scrunched up her face and rolled away from them. Didn’t people realise that even goddesses needed beauty sleep?

  
“Please wake up.”

  
She pulled her blankets higher over her head.

  
“I have something to give you.”

  
Aphrodite hesitated before rolling back over and opening her eyes. Hephaestus had lit a lamp on her side of the bed. The oil was running low so the flame was weak, but it was enough to cast long shadows over his features. He knelt down so their faces were level. 

  
“I should have known that would get your interest.”

  
Aphrodite tried to give him an adorable smile, but the effect was marred by a giant yawn that she couldn’t suppress. “Oops.”

  
He shook his head. “Hopeless.”

  
“Well, why are you trying to wake me up anyway?” She yawned again. How late was it, exactly? Hephaestus had that bright eyed, manic expression she recognised as a side-effect of a busy all-nighter. 

  
“Here.” He held out a bundle of ashy cloth. Aphrodite stretched and propped herself onto her pillows so she could take the bundle in her lap. “Open it,” he urged.

  
So he was excited, then. Half sleepy, half teasing, she took her time unwrapping the folds of fabric. She heard his breath hitch as the first glint of metal was exposed. “What’s this?” she murmured. The cloth fell away revealing a pile of gold glittering in the low light. “Oh, my.” The metal was warm in her hands as she picked it up. It was a chain—no, a girdle—woven in fine gold, patterned by the rise and fall of the metal. “You made this?”

  
“Yes.” Blunt as ever, but she could sense a tense excitement in every fibre of his body. “Will you wear it?”

  
“Of course!” She leaned over to hold it closer to the light. It felt more like fabric than metal. “How did you do this?”

  
“It was simple enough,” Hephaestus said, not without pride. “Gold is an extremely malleable material, that’s why it’s terrible for weapons and armour. They would just bend and warp when you tried to use them. But that’s also what makes it exceptionally good for ornaments and these kinds of things. So you just have to get enough gold into strands fine enough to work like fabric. Then you put it all together.”

  
She smiled. “You make it sound so simple.”

  
He blinked. “It is, if you know what you’re doing.” He inched closer, leaning over to look at the girdle. “I also added some magical properties to it so it should be able to amplify the desirability of the wearer. If you wear it you will likely be irresistible.”

  
Aphrodite frowned. She laid the girdle carefully on his pillow. “Why are you giving me this?”

  
He frowned back. “You like gifts.”

  
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant. Why are you giving me something that would make people _more_ attracted to me?”

  
“Oh.”

  
She bit her lip. “I thought you didn’t want any further… trouble.”

  
Hephaestus fell quiet. He ran one finger over the clasp of the girdle. It had been molded into a rose. “I didn’t mind when you danced with… with him the other night, you know,” he said quietly.

  
Aphrodite’s heart began to race. “Really?”

  
He nodded. “I don’t… I thought about it.” He was frowning hard now. “I don’t want to stop you… being you.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“You haven’t stopped me working alone.” He looked up at her. “So… I shouldn’t stop you working with others.”

  
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Wait, are you saying you don’t mind if I spend time with other people?” She gulped. “Like, with lovers?”

  
He drew in a sharp breath. “Maybe not… _that_ , just yet.” He looked down at his hands. “But I… I trust you.” He was speaking so quietly. 

  
“Do you really mean that?” Aphrodite said, tears welling in her eyes. “You trust me?” He met her gaze with his dark, warm eyes. His jaw was tense, but he nodded. Dazed, she ran a hand through his hair. “You trust me.”

  
“Yes,” he murmured. “I… I think you won’t hurt me on purpose.”

  
She shook her head, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I could never,” she said. She curled over him, brushing her lips over his forehead. “I could never. I love you.”

  
Hephaestus sighed. “Yes. And I love you.”


End file.
